


Lovable

by LadyCharity



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Childhood Trauma, Emotional Baggage, F/M, Family Drama, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Light Canon Divergence, Mental Instability, Sibling Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-20
Updated: 2018-04-20
Packaged: 2019-04-25 13:37:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 31,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14379765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyCharity/pseuds/LadyCharity
Summary: Zuko knew that he could not save Azula. He could only try to forgive her. Fittingly enough, those two were one in the same.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I have loved A:TLA for over ten years, but never tried writing fanfic for it once until now. Posting all of it at once, because I thought it would be 20 pages at most and now it's docking at 58. Did not proofread because my eyes are hurting my skull...Enjoy??
> 
> As a note, the slight canon divergence is that I ignored the last 10 minutes of the series and all subsequent comics.

Out of Fire Lord Azulon’s three grandchildren, Zuko cried the most. Lu Ten was the eldest, and for the longest time second in line for the throne. If he had anything to cry for, he knew better than to do it outside of his own quarters. Azula was the youngest, and loathed the position. She would rather gouge her eyes out than let them shed a tear. Zuko, on the other hand, could not help it.

He cried over plays, however badly performed. He cried over the sight of a lonely turtle-duck without a mate. He cried when their grandmother passed away, who was quiet and distant but would always heap extra fish into his bowl when they had dinner together. He cried no more than the average child his age, but compared to his family, he was not a far cry from a nuisance.

Ozai said that Zuko was too loud. He couldn’t hear himself think when Zuko was making a ruckus with his tears. Then he would ask Zuko if he was done yet and wait in cold silence until Zuko choked down the next sob. Zuko did not stay in the same room as Ozai afterward if he could help it.

Azula would only make matters worse. She would skip to Ursa’s side under the guise of quality time, only to shame Zuko from running to his mother for comfort. Even when he would try to hide away to regain his composure, she would sniff him out of his hiding places by the turtle-duck pond or in his room, and laugh when he couldn’t catch his breath before she found him.

“No wonder Dad’s so ashamed of you,” she said, which made Zuko ache more.

Thankfully, Lu Ten would take him aside and let him stay as long as he wanted in his room, where he would keep his books and scrolls for Zuko to read until his mind was clear. He would tell Zuko that it was okay if he took all the time that he needed, and that yes, it _is_ sad that Fire Lord Azulon refused relief to the farming family who travelled all the way to the capital to plead for support. Sad things must happen in life, Zuko, so why wouldn’t you cry about it?

“Azula never cries,” Zuko said, both in begrudgement and in jealousy.

“Everyone cries, Zuko,” said Lu Ten. “She’s just too young to understand that.”

It was not the point that Lu Ten was trying to make, but Zuko felt a swell of relief in his chest at the idea that finally, someone saw him as stronger and more mature than Azula. Those sort of moments never lasted; they ebbed away the next time Zuko was knocked down during firebending training, or Azula mocked Zuko when Zuko was asking a simple question, or the next time Ozai simply looked at Zuko until Zuko felt as if he had grown ten sizes too big and was taking up too much space, too much skin and air.

“Then why does she always make me cry?” Zuko said.

Lu Ten sombered. When he looked upon Zuko, whose face was so earnest and hurt, he must have thought of all the other things and people who would make his little cousin cry until he could not breathe or stand up on his own. Fathers and sisters were not supposed to be at the very top of the list.

“She shouldn’t do that to you,” said Lu Ten, who wished he was wiser to say what will be, rather than what ought to be. What good did hypotheticals do? “You’re her brother.”

Zuko looked down. All of a sudden there was a quizzical expression on his face, as if he had come across a riddle. His voice was small, as if he was embarrassed to ask the question to which he ought to know the answer.

“Do you think that my sister doesn’t love me?” Zuko said.

Lu Ten’s heart must have sunk, because he did not answer. Instead, he sat down on the floor next to Zuko, even though he still wore his military armor and had many things to attend to that day. He pulled out a small, bound book of traditional folk tales from his desk.

“Have you ever heard the story,” said Lu Ten, “of the Blue Spirit?”

Lu Ten was tall, and strong, and wise. He was like a king in Zuko’s eyes (which unfortunately made Ozai like a god). Eventually, he would die, his bones crushed under the weight of a war that his father bequeathed to him. When he did die, Zuko waited until he walked out of the garden--and then the day’s lessons, and then dinner, and then the prayers at the Fire Temple to commit Lu Ten’s spirit to Agni, and then his room, in the middle of the night when everyone was sleeping and only the stars lit the courtyard between his room and Lu Ten’s. And then, when he stood in the hollow childhood room, he did not even make it to Lu Ten’s old bed before his face crumpled.

But we must not get ahead of ourselves with loss. Lu Ten had left his mark on Zuko, one that was surprisingly not painful, as Zuko would come to get used to in due time.

On the last day of Lu Ten’s last furlough, Azula had snuck out of her tutor’s classes to play with Ty Lee at the edge of the caldera. She must have thought that she could make it back to the palace without getting caught before her firebending lesson, but by the time she sprinted back to the training grounds, she was twelve minutes late, and Ozai was standing next to Li and Lo, waiting. Ozai did not raise his voice, but he never needed to.

Zuko found Azula crying in the garden afterward. At first, Zuko did not even realize that she was crying as she crouched on the small footbridge over the pond, because she did not sniff or shake. But he saw her drag her sleeve over her eyes, and he immediately felt exposed despite hiding behind the courtyard pillars. Without making a sound, he hurried back inside.

Before Zuko had a chance to find anything to busy himself with--study, training, any other responsibility that could serve as an alibi--Lu Ten caught him in the corridor.

“Why are you running?” Lu Ten said.

Zuko’s face warmed, and he said ‘no reason’ too quickly to be plausible. Lu Ten only needed to wait another three seconds before even the white lie was too much for Zuko to handle, and the little truths split the seam to come spilling out.

“Azula’s crying,” Zuko said.

Lu Ten’s brow furrowed.

“Why is she crying?” said Lu Ten.

“I don’t know,” Zuko said. “She just got in trouble.”

“Had Uncle punished her?”

“No!” Zuko said, and perhaps now was when the source of his distress had gotten the better of him. “He didn’t say _anything_ bad to her. He just told her that she was irresponsible and that she wasn’t allowed to see the fireworks at the Midsummer Festival next week. Big deal.”

“That’s a lovely thing to miss,” Lu Ten said softly. “I’d be sad too. Is she all right?”

Zuko felt a twinge of discomfort, which others may interpret as guilt.

“I don’t know,” said Zuko. “I didn’t ask.”

“Maybe you can talk to her,” Lu Ten said.

Zuko gaped at Lu Ten.

“You’re crazy,” he said.

Lu Ten laughed, but unfortunately not in a way that dismissed everything he had said previously as a joke.

“She probably feels very bad,” said Lu Ten. “No one likes making their father unhappy.”

“How would you know?” said Zuko. “You never make Uncle mad.”

“If you said that in front of him, he would choke himself laughing,” said Lu Ten.

He beckoned Zuko to follow him, and took him to the kitchens. He put a finger to his lips, and then, when a cook was not looking, snuck around the corner and stole two buns from a bamboo steamer. The two of them ran for it before the cook realized their theft, although the cook most likely feigned ignorance, because Zuko was laughing in his sleeve the entire time.

When they reached a clearing, Zuko eagerly reached for one of the pillowy buns. Lu Ten held them out of arm’s reach.

“Give one to Azula,” said Lu Ten. “She might feel better if you give her something warm.”

Zuko’s shoulders slumped. He had thought hopefully that Lu Ten had done all of this to change the subject.

“She wouldn’t want anything from me,” said Zuko. “She hates me.”

“She doesn’t,” Lu Ten said. “And even if she did, don’t you still love her anyway?”

Zuko thought about this for a moment, and gave a resigned sigh. Lu Ten grinned and held out the buns to him, which Zuko took solemnly.

When he returned to the courtyard, Azula was still in the gardens, pulling up handfuls of grass and throwing it into the pond. The turtle-ducks and fire koi nibbled at the roots before deeming them unsatisfactory and hiding within the reeds. The high of Lu Ten’s attention dissipated immediately at the sight of her, and Zuko had to take in a deep breath to prepare himself the quiet trek to Azula’s side under the tree.

“Hi, Azula,” he said.

Azula said nothing. She tore up another hole in the grass. Zuko sat on the other side of her. He held out a plump lotus seed bun to her.

“Want one?” he said. “They’re good.”

Azula took it from his hand before promptly hurling it at one of the turtle-ducklings. Zuko, having only just settled in the grass, immediately jumped to his feet with an indignant yell.

“That was for _you_ ,” he said.

“Leave me alone,” said Azula.

Her voice was still thick. Zuko wanted to ask why Azula felt so badly, when Ozai had gone so soft on her. But Zuko knew that that was something Lu Ten would advise him not to say, as well as the fact that Azula’s countenance was so sour that he did not have it in him to even bring it up.

The turtle-duckling bobbed back to the surface. Zuko took off his shoes and rolled his uniform up to his knees before wading into the water. He picked up the bun, which was now crumbling from the water, and ripped it into tiny pieces. He scattered the bits back over the pond, and the turtle-ducklings gobbled them up immediately.

“Do you wanna play?” Zuko said, because maybe all that Azula needed was a distraction, much like how Lu Ten would read with him whenever Zuko would overhear Ozai telling court nobles in private how he wished his son was someone else.

Before he could smile, Azula pushed him, and he fell over into the water. It was shallow, but he still wet his entire uniform, and he cried out when he had nearly fell into one of the large, golden fire kois that darted away immediately.

“Azula!” Zuko snapped.

Zuko spun around, ready to splash water into her face and wipe off her cruel laughter, but she was not smiling in the first place. She glared at him as if he was the one who had pushed her into the pond. A wiser boy would realize that she was only trying to make him feel as badly as she did, but Zuko was only ten, and therefore not wise at all.

“Why do you have to be so-- _augh_!”

He would use firebending to evaporate the water from his clothes, but he felt so angry that he knew that he would only achieve setting his own pants on fire, which would make Azula even more victorious.

“I was only trying to _help_ ,” Zuko said.

“Why would I want your help?” Azula said. “Why would I need you?”

Zuko let out a yell of frustration before he stomped out of the garden, forgetting his shoes at the side of the pond and leaving a trail of water down the corridor. He came to the conclusion that Lu Ten, however tall and strong and wise he was, was wrong about one thing, at least.

-

That was then, and this was now. Too many things have changed since then, but as Zuko took the ferry to Azula’s asylum, some things did not change at all.

No one was forcing him to, just as Lu Ten never forced Zuko to sit down next to Azula when she was upset. Destiny was not forcing him, either. No one would be upset if he turned around and walked back out from where he came. In fact, they would probably applaud him.

“I still don’t think that this is a good idea,” Katara said.

Zuko waited for her to elaborate. She did not see a need to.

“I know,” he said simply.

It was her turn to wait, and his turn to not know what else to say.

“So _why_?” she said. “She nearly killed you. She would have, too, if she had another chance.”

They were on the ferry to the island where Azula was kept--the asylum where she was supposed to get better, before she would be put on trial. Katara followed him only because Zuko asked.

“She’s ill,” said Zuko.

Katara pursed her lips.

“She would have still killed you if she wasn’t,” she said.

Zuko wished that he could argue that.

“Does this mean that you forgive her?” said Katara.

“No,” Zuko said. “I don’t think so. Does it?”

“Shouldn’t you know for yourself?”

Zuko gave her a helpless look. Katara laughed softly.

“I don’t know why you asked me to come with you, honestly,” she said.

“Do you no longer want to go on life-changing adventures with me anymore?” said Zuko.

“Ha ha,” said Katara. “I mean that of all the others, I--”

Her jaw twitched and she looked away.

“What?” said Zuko.

“I’m the last person that’ll be of any help,” said Katara. “That’s all.”

When Zuko shot her a look of confusion, she sighed exasperatedly. She paused, on the verge of a delicate thought, but ultimately decided against it.

“I don’t want to even consider forgiving Azula for anything right now,” she said.

“Well, that makes two of us,” said Zuko.

Katara snorted. The ferry was drawing closer to the island, which was a lush green haven tucked away in the thick of the archipelago.

“I didn’t ask you to come because I wanted advice or wisdom or anything from you,” said Zuko. “I guess I just wanted your company.”

Katara smiled wryly.

“That’s true,” she said. “If you wanted wisdom and didn’t ask for Iroh, then you’d just be a hopeless case.”

Zuko rolled his eyes. Katara absentmindedly combed through her thick hair, reluctantly sobering.

“Even if this isn’t coming from a wise place,” said Katara, “I don’t know if this is good for you. Right now, anyway.”

“It’s just to see if she’s okay,” said Zuko. “I’m not going to make a habit out of it.”

He gave a sidelong glance at Katara, who was leaning against the railing and watching the waves that the ferry made as it pushed through the water. He never told her this, but she was the first person outside of Zuko to see Azula cry in her fourteen years of life. He reckoned that she suspected this already. No one looked at Azula and assumed that she had shed a tear in the past decade.

“Aang told me that you went to see your father in prison,” said Katara.

Zuko raised his eyebrow.

“What’s your point?” said Zuko.

Katara looked to Zuko, frowning.

“I’m just worried--” she said.

“That’s not new,” said Zuko.

“I’m _worried_ ,” she said more loudly, “that they’re just going to hurt you when you see them. And you would let them.”

“My father’s bending has been taken from him,” said Zuko. “And Azula’s chi is blocked by masters that even she can’t undo. They’re not going to attack me.”

“That isn’t how I meant,” Katara said.

The ferry docked. The head of the asylum escorted Zuko and Katara through the front gate. There were flowering trees at the entrance, and somewhere out of eyesight Zuko could hear the babbling of a fountain.

“It’s pretty,” Katara offered. “And peaceful.”

“Everything that Azula hates,” Zuko said with a sigh.

He turned to Katara. She seemed to already know what he was about to say, because she saved him the trouble of explaining himself.

“I’ll wait out here, if that’s okay,” she said.

“Yes,” Zuko said. “I’ll be back.”

He turned away and followed the head of the asylum inside. He did not want Katara to have to see Azula again, when Katara had been so distraught after the Agni Kai that she could not stop shaking even after she helped Zuko back inside and kept insisting that she wasn’t done healing him yet even though she was drenched in sweat.

Still, when the doors closed behind him, and the head of the asylum said in passing what Azula’s room number was, Zuko wished that Katara was with him.

“You must be careful, Fire Lord Zuko,” said the warden, using the name that fit on Zuko in the same way as a coat two sizes too big. “The patient has not been compliant. If she may run out--”

“She doesn’t try to run away every time someone comes in to see her, does she?” said Zuko.

“You’re her first visitor, my Lord.”

“Ah.” That made sense.

The warden unlocked the door. The guards that flanked Zuko’s side approached the door alongside him, but Zuko shook his head.

“You don’t have to go in with me,” said Zuko. “I’ll be fine.”

The warden looked at Zuko as if he had casually suggested setting himself on fire.

“With all due respect, my Lord,” said the warden. “This is not the safest situation for our new Fire Lord to be in.”

Zuko looked to the silent guards. With their sharp and heavy armor and towering spears, they felt more like adornments than safety measures.

“She’ll throw a fit,” he said.

The warden hummed, without contradiction.

“Take at least two with you, then,” said the warden. “I understand your concern--but the last thing the Fire Nation needs is for their leader to be indisposed of.”

By the way that everyone was talking, they all expected Azula to kill him. To be fair to them, though, Zuko didn’t believe it very far off either. He conceded, took in a deep breath, and slid open the door.

The first thing that struck him was the smell of the room, which thankfully was not damp and rank with sweat like the prison in which his father stayed. Perhaps because she was kept alone in this room for so long, it simply smelled strongly of Azula. Unwillingly, Zuko was reminded of home. A mental facility should not be so familiar, and yet.

There was a bed, a desk, and a soft chair by the meager bookshelf. A low table stood squarely in the middle of the room, with an untouched teapot cooling atop it. On the walls were ink paintings of the mountain ranges hanging in place of windows. The room almost looked empty, save for a lump underneath the sheets on the bed, stirring.

The door shut behind the guards, who immediately rooted themselves at either side of Zuko. It came a second late to him that the warden had not even announced his arrival to Azula. On the other side of the door, he could hear the warden muttering harsh orders to the remaining guards in the hall.

The lump on the bed chuckled.

Zuko stood silently, belatedly but unsurprisingly finding himself without an actual script or plan of what to do now that he was here. He had hoped, foolishly, that the words that needed to be said would come pouring out the moment he saw his sister. Instead, he was struck dumb in a cold room while Azula buried herself in the bed.

The past thirty seconds were probably the most civil that they have been with each other since he was eight years old.

This was not like when he had gone to see Ozai. With Ozai, Zuko shook with both terror and anger. At the sight of his father’s face, Zuko could do anything but stay silent and still, each breath he took laced with the unspoken question of _why?_ But here, watching Azula squirm under stiff sheets, he thought of the way she had hurled her frustration at a little animal, and shattered her own heart into jagged pieces when Katara bound her. Why was it easier to demand the question of _why_ from his father than it was to ask his sister: how are you?

“Azula,” Zuko said.

The stirring ceased immediately. Zuko sensed the guards tightening their grip on their spears. He shook his head.

A pale hand reached out to rip the rough sheets from her face, which was ashen and thinning out, her forehead and cheeks chapping until she had the complexion of sand. The lank hair with her crudely cut bangs, her colorless lips, and the shadows around her eyes made Zuko almost not recognize her. Azula had always been perfect.

At the sight of Zuko, Azula’s face hardened. There were more lines on her skin than a fourteen-year-old was expected to have.

“I knew it,” she said.

She sat up. Zuko could see patches on her wrists and her neck where they bound the needles blocking her chi. The skin around the patches were red and raw after incessant clawing. It looked as if Azula had been attacked by a wild animal, which may have been half true.

“She was warning me about this,” Azula said.

“About what?” Zuko said.

Azula’s lips curled into a smile. It would have been harrowing if her eyes were not so wide in their own terror.

“You,” said Azula. “And here I thought--maybe I _was_ crazy. Maybe I was fooling myself, believing in premonitions. But here you are. Ready to finish the deed.”

Zuko clenched his jaw.

“I’m not here to hurt you, Azula,” said Zuko.

“You could never,” said Azula. “You would never have the nerve. What happened was--I was winning. I was _winning_. And then you robbed me. You sabotaged me.”

She stumbled from one train of thought to another, and stared reproachfully at Zuko as if he knew exactly where to follow her.

“I hadn’t--” Zuko started.

“You cheated!” Azula said. “You cheated. I saw you. You were down. I struck you down. You were supposed to die and I was supposed to win and then you cheated and then you threw me here into this prison--”

“This is a hospital, Azula,” Zuko said. “You’re here because you’re unwell.”

She reached for the dresser by her table before hurling something at him. His guards reacted immediately--one grabbed him roughly by the arm and pulled him to the side while the other used his spear to knock out of the air what could have been a knife, a dart, a piece of glass. It pinged on the tip of the spear and flew into the wall, and when Zuko gathered himself again he saw a single cherry pit spinning on the floor.

Azula laughed giddily. Zuko felt his cheeks burn.

“What was that for?” Zuko said.

“You,” said Azula.

Zuko shook off the guard’s stern grip. His sharp movement made Azula jump from the bed, her sheets spilling to the ground. Zuko held up his hands in peace, palms open and empty. Azula clenched her teeth.

“Not a very good omen, is it?” said Azula. “I found it. In the food that the servant girl brought to me. They never stop trying, do they? They think they can get me, but they can’t.”

“They aren’t servants,” said Zuko. “They’re nurses. And they’re helping you.”

“She tried to choke me,” said Azula. “They’re poisoning my food. Don’t think that I’m stupid, Zuzu. I know what they’re trying to do.” She pointed to the cherry pit; her nails were broken and her fingertips raw. “She was warning me. Warning me that you’d come again. Come back to ruin everything.”

“You aren’t making sense,” said Zuko. He felt more and more lost, even though he did not move. He did not come here just to witness Azula’s fits, but that seemed like all he was good for in this moment. “All fruit have pits.”

“That day. There was a pit that day too,” said Azula. “It was an omen. And now you’re here. Again. If you were dead this wouldn’t happen. You’re supposed to be dead.”

The guard took a sharp breath, stepping forward. Zuko held up a hand towards the guard immediately. Azula grinned.

“You aren’t even going to do it yourself?” she said. “Pathetic. You’re _pathetic_ . You couldn’t even bring me down yourself. Your little waterbender had to do your dirty work because you were too weak against me. You’ve always been. _You_. You’re the weak one. You are always the weak one. Oh, won’t you sit down, you feeble thing? I’m sure the Fire Lord hardly has the strength to keep his head up.”

She raised her voice, as if she was trying to be eavesdropped on. Instead, Zuko turned to one of the guards.

“Ask the warden to bring her some hot food,” he said.

The guard bowed his head and slipped out of the room. Zuko turned back to Azula; she was digging her fingers into her own arm, as if she would rip out her own bone.

“The doctors say that you don’t eat,” Zuko said.

“Of course they would tell you that,” said Azula. “They’re very attentive. That’s what you need them to do. Watch me while I eat and sleep, watch for when I have let my guard down. I don’t sleep,” she added as her chest almost swelled with victory. “I never sleep. Nothing sneaks up on me. Least of all you.”

“I don’t want to kill you, Azula,” said Zuko.

“Stop lying,” said Azula. “ _You_. You stop lying. What else would you be here for?”

“Because,” Zuko said, losing faith in his own words. “I wanted to see how you were doing.”

“Because you want to laugh at the state that I’m in!” said Azula. “Because you’d want me to stand on my own feet when you cut my head off after a trial of pomp and circumstance.”

“Is that what you would do to me if you had won?” Zuko said.

“I wouldn’t even waste my time,” Azula said. “I would have stood over you while you snivelled for your waterbender. I would have had the pleasure to finish Dad’s work and burn the rest of your face off. Where is Dad?”

Her voice suddenly faltered, and her eyes widened, as if she had in the middle of her own tirade slipped from sleep to cold wakefulness.

“What did you do with him?” said Azula.

There was a knock on the door. Zuko opened it; a nurse had arrived with a bowl of hot jook on a tray. Her gaze darted behind Zuko and her hands shook. Zuko could hear Azula riling up behind him. He took the tray from the nurse.

“It’s okay,” he said. “I’ll take it from here.”

The nurse pushed the tray towards him and bowed deeply. She had already ran to the other end of the hall before Zuko could slide the door shut again. He set the tray down on the low table, pushing it towards the edge closest to Azula.

“You should eat,” he said.

“What did you put in it?” said Azula.

“Nothing,” said Zuko. “I didn’t even cook this.”

“Then what did the cook put in it?” said Azula. “What did the servant? Stop playing dumb, Zuzu. Stop pretending. They all work for you.”

“Why would I kill you, Azula?” Zuko said. His temper flared with indignation. “Why would I bother talking to you now if I wanted you dead? Do you hear what you’re saying?”

“Because you’re a coward,” said Azula. “Because you don’t have what it takes to end me. A true Fire Lord would have put an end to any threat to the throne. Now tell me,” said Azula. “Where--is--my-- _father_?”

Zuko felt a pang of irony.

“He’s awaiting trial,” said Zuko.

“He’s here?” Azula said.

Her voice tightened.

“No,” said Zuko. “He’s not.”

Azula bit her lip until it bled, which did not take long. She ran her shaking fingers through her long, unruly hair.

“Does he know that I’m here?” said Azula. “Did he ask you where I am?”

Her voice trembled. The indignation that Zuko felt raging towards his sister was suddenly overwhelmed by pity, like icy water poured onto a campfire. When Ozai saw Zuko on the other side of his prison bars, Zuko’s topknot pinned with the crown of the Fire Lord, Ozai did not even utter Azula’s name. He opened his mouth, ready to tell the truth, but he hesitated at the last moment when he saw Azula hold her breath the moment he took his.

“I hadn’t seen him,” he said.

‘Yes’ would have been just as much of a lie, and quicker to say. But even Zuko was not that good of a liar. Azula pressed her lips together but exhaled deeply, her shoulders rising in reassurance.

“He’ll come for me,” said Azula. “Everything you try is futile. Try all you want, and parade in that crown you don’t deserve. He’ll come--and he’ll break me out of here and you will get exactly what you deserve. We’ll take _turns_ giving you exactly what you deserve.”

Mental breakdowns did not suit Azula well. Those icy, poisonous words that she had long tormented him with were now tangled with desperation and clumsy attacks. They made her too honest, and honesty was simply flailing in the deep sea just to stay afloat.

“I knew you would come,” said Azula.

“You said that already,” Zuko said tiredly.

“She was mocking me. That nurse knew that I would have to sit and wait for you to come. She knew--the moment I saw that cherry pit I knew, just like before, it was going to happen again, and it would be terrible.”

She slid down to the floor, her legs tangled with the sheets on the ground. Zuko considered crossing the room to her, sitting next to her. He couldn’t bring himself to move.

“Where is she?” said Azula.

“The nurse?” said Zuko.

“Your waterbender,” said Azula.

Zuko stiffened.

“Her name is Katara,” said Zuko. He did not bother to sound civil to Azula.

“She should have been killed too,” said Azula. “The both of you. The sea slug and the faceless freak. You had to go and be stupid, though. You had to run for the lightning. It would have been so--so--funny to see you watch your sea slug get a hole burned through her chest. The look on your face when yet another stupid woman loses everything because of you. First Mother--”

“That’s _enough_ ,” said Zuko. “Don’t talk about her like that.”

Azula laughed with delight. Zuko braced himself; even in the pits of insanity, Azula always had the upper hand. She always knew exactly in what direction to rip him. He was always too stupid to stop her.

“Eat something,” Zuko said. He would rather look anywhere else but Azula. “Come on.”

“Mom’s probably dead because of you,” Azula said.

“She’s not dead,” said Zuko.

“All right,” said Azula. “Tell yourself that.”

Zuko could feel smoke burn the gaps between his fingers. He sapped it back into his palm before Azula could notice.

“Maybe she was useless,” said Azula, “but at least she had a nice life here. It’s a pity that she had to lose it all--and for what? What good reason? Now she’s probably dead somewhere in some pauper’s grave. I guess that’s better. God, can you imagine the look she would make if she saw your face now?”

“Eat something,” Zuko said, louder.

“How long do you think a disgraced nonbender woman can last out there?” said Azula. “She’d starve. She couldn’t do anything. Well, banished without honor, what dignity did she have to lose? Because of you, she probably had to sell her own--”

“You’re _sick_ , Azula!” said Zuko.

Zuko was not proud of this moment--not of being seized with the consuming urge to burn Azula’s mouth off, and leave her with a scar even deeper than his. He had his fist raised, he had his fire licking the lines of his palm, but just as he drew his fist back, he looked into Azula’s eyes and thought, this is my mother’s daughter. Azula spat in the face of their mother, laughed at her disappearance, and gloated at the idea of their mother dead or worse--but she was his mother’s little girl, and his sister.

“ _You_ make me sick!” Azula spat. She paused, and then smiled. “You _made_ me sick.”

He swallowed the fire back until it burned. It did not go unnoticed, because Azula threw her head back and laughed. Zuko felt a scorching lump in his throat as he collected his breath. He gestured to the guard, who nodded and opened the door for Zuko. The last thing Zuko needed was to set Azula’s room on fire.

As he turned to leave, Azula threw in one last attempt.

“It’s your fault, remember,” Azula said. “It was always your fault.”

Zuko paused, and looked back at Azula, who almost smiled in satisfaction when he turned to her again. It all made sense to him, that this was the same terrible young girl who pushed him in the pond just so he would rather yell at her than pity her. But right now, he could not find it in him to look past that.

“Your jook will go cold,” he said.

He waited until the ferry ride back to shoot a stream of fire into the water, until he created his own waves. Despite being far from the island, he could still hear Azula’s boastful laughter in his ears.


	2. Chapter 2

“You’re being funny, aren’t you?” Zuko said.

Sokka only snorted at Zuko’s stony countenance. The five of them all sat around Zuko’s study, which was a disastrous attempt of organized chaos. 

“I don’t know why this is a  _ bad _ thing,” said Sokka. He tossed one of Zuko’s early drafts of a trade proposal over his shoulder, knocking over a stack of documents that Zuko had so painstakingly organized only an hour earlier. Zuko fought down the urge to throw Sokka into the paper pile as well. “Every nation drinks it. Every nation  _ wants _ it.”

“The Fire Nation has the most advanced technology in the world,” said Zuko.

“That’s not really a boasting point in this context.”

“I meant that we produce far more useful goods to trade with other nations,” Zuko said. “More useful, more productive, more--more--”

“And I’m telling you,” Sokka said, “none of the other nations are going to be so  _ keen _ on trading with the Fire Nation if the goods are going to remind them of exactly how the Fire Nation took over their home. Even if it’s for their own defenses.”

“Obviously, we wouldn’t be putting war tanks on sale--”

“Yeah, yeah,” said Sokka. “You’ll switch up your industry, develop something new that’ll catch on that everyone would want. I’m sure that’s going to happen. I mean that genuinely,” Sokka added when Zuko’s eyebrow twitched. “I’m not being sarcastic.”

“Hard to tell.”

“But in the  _ meantime _ ,” Sokka said. “The Fire Nation’s coffers are going to run empty after paying off reparations. Unless you have something to trade  _ now _ \--”

“--We’ll end up in an economic collapse,” Zuko said. “I know. Basically my people’s lives are depending on this. Of all the things we could be known for.”

“You could really have a shot at the Ember Island Players with all that drama,” Sokka said.

Zuko shot a withering glare at Sokka. 

“Come on, Zuko,” Katara said. “ You have forests of it naturally growing. It’ll give the farmers more jobs. It’s a perfect main export.”

“But  _ tea _ ?” said Zuko. 

“Everyone knows that the best tea comes from the Fire Nation,” said Toph. “And the best tea brewer in all of Ba Sing Se is from the Fire Nation. Do you want your people to starve?”

“No,” Zuko said. “I’m just saying--”

“And it’ll make the Fire Nation look far more peaceful,” Aang offered. “It gives a nice first impression right after a hundred year war. What screams peace treaties and reconstruction more than a nice good cup of tea?” 

“Me, screaming.” 

“I thought the Fire Nation loved tea,” said Toph. 

“Leaves a bad taste in my mouth.” 

Sokka cackled; Zuko didn’t understand why.

“Well, keep it in mind, anyway,” Katara said, scribbling down the notes of their conversation onto an extra scroll. “I think Sokka’s got a good point. The other nations are probably going to hold a grudge on the Fire Nation and not care for your ships, or your drills.”

“It’s not going to be a lot,” Zuko said. “And it’s so dependent on the season. What if it’s not enough?”

“We’re just telling you how it probably will be,” Sokka said. “I know none of the Water Tribes would want to trade your ships. Dad would be willing to negotiate trade for other goods--but that’s because he knows you. Everyone else…” 

Zuko pursed his lips. Other than the fact that they were the people he trusted the most, he asked his friends for help because he knew that they would actually care if the Fire Nation would fall into economic disaster. 

There was a knock on the door. Zuko let out a groan, burying his face in his hands.

“I’m not here,” he said. 

Before anyone could ask, the door slid open. When Iroh stepped into the room, Zuko immediately shuffled through the endless stack of papers. He avoided making eye contact with his uncle as he laid out the first five drafts of yet another reconstruction plan on the ground on which they all sat. The others looked quizzically at Zuko; Iroh did not protest. 

“We’re in the middle of something, Uncle,” Zuko said. “I don’t--I can’t talk about anything else right now.”

“I understand,” said Iroh. “I only need a little bit of your time, Fire Lord Zuko.”

“You don’t have to call me that,” Zuko said. 

Iroh did not respond immediately, which made Zuko’s heart sink. 

“Is it finished?” said Zuko. 

Iroh closed the door behind him. He looked to the others, who shifted uneasily in their places, but he did not shake his head at them or ask them to leave. He knelt next to Zuko, who pointedly kept his gaze downward.

“The panel of magistrates from all the nations is now deliberating on your father’s sentence,” said Iroh. “But we still require your decision. I’m sorry,” he added when Zuko turned away from Iroh. His voice was heavy, somehow still comforting like a weighted blanket even when sorrowful. “But he is still a subject of the Fire Nation.”

“I don’t want to,” said Zuko. He could feel everyone’s gaze grow sticky on his skin.

“What do the magistrates think?” Katara said, taking the weight of responding off of Zuko.

“Attempted genocide of the Earth Kingdom alone is punishable by death,” said Iroh. “The Earth Kingdom’s magistrate particularly believes so.”

“Is that necessary?” Aang said immediately. “I mean--he’s already defeated. He doesn’t have to be killed. Does he?” 

He looked to Zuko. Zuko pretended to be highly interested in the etchings of his stone seal as if he had never seen it before. 

“Honestly, it’ll make the rest of the nations feel better,” Sokka said. 

“But it’s not about what makes people feel better,” Aang said. “It’s about what’s right. And what’s just.” 

Zuko suddenly wished that Aang would shut up. The unexpected violence of his thoughts stunned Zuko, and rendered him even more speechless than he already felt. 

“Maybe a death sentence  _ is _ what is just, Aang,” said Sokka. 

Zuko stole a glance at Iroh, only to find that his uncle was watching him. He averted his gaze before he could tell what sort of expression was on Iroh’s face.

“Killing him only risks making him out to be a martyr for everyone who supported the war. And all that it stood for,” said Zuko. “And I’ll just be another monarch who killed for the throne.”

“You didn’t, though,” said Katara. 

“But what if he is dangerous if he’s still alive?” Sokka said. “While he’s still alive he could still have--I don’t know--influence. Or followers. He could hurt  _ you _ , Zuko.” 

“He doesn’t have bending,” Zuko said.

“Someone can still be powerful and not have any bending,” Sokka said.

Zuko quieted. He did not want to think about this. That was precisely the reason why, instead of sitting in on Ozai’s trial like he was supposed to as Fire Lord, he instead asked his friends to hide with him in his study, hashing out trade plans that no one outside of them five would trust in because the average age of everyone in the room was thirteen and a half. Even after all this time, he did not know how to condemn his father. 

“If we imprison him for life,” Zuko said, “he would be under close guard.” 

“He could escape,” Sokka said. “He could have allies on the outside. Zuko, we watched a play where everyone cheered when we all got killed. There are people out there who wish Ozai was still in power. What if they cheer our deaths--for real?” 

“Then what am I supposed to do?” Zuko said. 

“Banish him?” Toph suggested. “He’s only got the Earth Kingdom or the Water Tribe to go to.  _ No one _ is going to ally themselves with him there.” 

There was a sharp pang that ran through Zuko’s chest at the thought of it. He didn’t know if it was simply the sheer irony, to consider banishing his own father, or the sudden and unexpected thought that if he banished his father, what was Ozai going to do in his old age, when he was feeble and white and had no children that would take care of him? 

The fact that he questioned the latter made his stomach turn.

“Banishing him will only sentence him to death too,” Aang said, shaking his head. “The minute he takes a step onto Earth Kingdom soil, you know that no one is going to have mercy on him.” 

“So you’re voting life imprisonment?” said Sokka.

“That’s not my choice,” Aang said quickly. 

I’m not here to kill you, Azula, Zuko had said, and she had not believed him.

“I won’t kill him,” said Zuko.

The room fell uneasily quiet. He wondered if maybe he had made the wrong choice. But how was he supposed to know otherwise? The only firsthand experience he had with law and punishment was on the stadium of an Agni Kai, on his knees pleading for forgiveness. 

“But didn’t you tell Aang that he needed to kill Ozai?” said Sokka.

Zuko felt a flare of fire in his chest, but he knew he was not blaming Sokka. Still, Sokka must have noticed, because he sheepishly shifted to the other side of the room. 

“You don’t have to explain yourself, Zuko,” Katara said. 

Zuko swallowed hard and gave Katara a nod of thanks. She looked down at her hands on her lap. 

“Give him life imprisonment,” Zuko said to Iroh.  “And revoke rights to Ai Xinku. I can’t have any obsessed loyalists trying to take his place.” 

Iroh did not move from his place on the floor. It only made Zuko’s heart clench more in panic.

“What?” he said. “Am I doing something wrong?”

“No, Zuko,” said Iroh. He dipped his head into a reserved bow. “I’m just very sorry that you have to do this.”

Zuko remembered that when Azula would eventually be put on trial, this would happen all over again. He took the cup of tea from his desk and downed it in one gulp, and did not complain that it had gone cold. 

He and Iroh stood up to bow, before Iroh departed. The silence in the room stood on spindly legs. Zuko knew that everyone was waiting for him to make the first move, but he did not know what to say. So he picked up one of the papers from the floor, and stared at it listlessly, wishing that someone else would take the responsibility off of him. 

“So,” said Sokka. “What’s Ai Xinku?”

Zuko put the paper aside, resigned.

“It’s an old tradition,” said Zuko. “If someone volunteers to take the criminal’s sentence. No one’s done it in a while, but just in case…”

“Why would someone do that?” Toph said.

Zuko shrugged.

“It’s usually a filial duty,” he said. 

“Oh,” said Sokka. “Are you afraid that Azula is going to take it for him?”

Zuko didn’t answer. Katara stood up from the floor. 

“I think it’s a good idea,” said Katara. “Ozai should be responsible for his own crimes. No one innocent should get a chance to take the punishment for him.”

Zuko ran a hand over his brow. He drew all of his work into a more bearable pile on his desk.

“I should probably be present at the sentencing,” said Zuko. 

“Are you sure?” said Katara. “You don’t have to force yourself, Zuko.” 

“I’m not,” he said. 

He gathered himself to leave. Once he left the room, Katara looked away turning her back to everyone else. Aang said something along the lines of, well, it is his father, after all. Maybe this is goodbye for him. To which Katara said, yeah. Maybe. 

-

Zuko sat on the benches of the ferry, waiting for it to set course. A box wrapped in cloth was set on his lap, which Iroh had prepared for him as if Zuko were a child about to take holiday into the countryside. Zuko wouldn’t mind if that were the case, or if instead he would crawl into a volcano. 

Ozai’s sentencing was a week ago. Against his better judgment, Zuko had sat in to hear the magistrates’ decree. At one point, Ozai had turned his head and their eyes had met, and Zuko realized that this should be the last time he would see his dad. Even after victory, after breaking out of Ozai’s poison and accepting that the love that Ozai had frugally shown him was actually cruelty, the look that Ozai gave Zuko made him unable to sleep for several nights. 

Even after everything that Zuko had learned and done, that instinct to please his father still sprung to life, terrified of failure. Sokka was not far off from the truth. Perhaps, if given the chance, Azula would have petitioned for Ai Xinku on their father’s behalf. She would have accepted life imprisonment with gusto for a man who had no idea if his youngest child had been killed in his absence and did not bother asking. 

“Is this seat taken?”

Zuko looked up. He smiled despite the tightening of his stomach.

“Thought you guys were going to see the markets,” he said.

Katara sat down beside him. She leaned back into the seat, sweeping her hair over the railing so that the sea spray would tangle in it. 

“And I thought you and Toph were going to see the edge of the mountains,” said Katara.

Zuko picked at the knot at the top of the box. Katara nudged him in the arm gently. 

“Come on, Zuko,” she said. “You need a break.” 

“This is my break,” said Zuko. “I don’t have another meeting until four.” 

“Well, I was kind of hoping you’d think we were better company than Azula,” Katara said. 

The captain of the ferry called for the sailors to come aboard and undo the ropes. Zuko and Katara exchanged glances.

“You don’t have to come,” said Zuko.

“Neither do you,” said Katara. 

Zuko looked toward the island. From here one could hardly tell that there was any life on it, shrouded in thick trees. 

“She’s my sister,” said Zuko. 

“She tried to kill you,” said Katara. “Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”

“Yes,” said Zuko. “Sorry. It’s complicated.”

Katara pressed her lips into a thin line. She stood up, smoothing down her dress, her chin dipping low.

“Can I pick anything up for you from the markets?” she said. 

“Fire peanuts?” said Zuko.

“What are those?”

“They’re like fire flakes, but peanuts. And can be eaten cold. Just look for shelled peanuts mixed with fire pepper.”

“Are those the little white seeds or the red crunchy bits?”

“Red crunchy bits.”

“Got it.” 

Katara grinned, which carefully unraveled the tangled nerves in Zuko’s chest. She left the ferry, and the ferry took off afterwards, and as Zuko looked back to see her retreat into town he was surprised to see her standing on the dock, looking back at him. 

The doctor looked troubled when Zuko returned. 

“Please understand, Fire Lord Zuko,” the doctor said. Zuko could see perspiration clinging to the man’s graying temples. “I’m doing the best I can with the princess. She has better days--but today--”

“Did she hurt anyone?” said Zuko.

“My nurses? No,” the doctor said. “Frightened them, of course, but they were able to treat her nonetheless. Rather--I mean--” 

“I’d still want to see her,” said Zuko. “And get me a pot of water, too.” 

When Zuko stepped into Azula’s room again, flanked yet again by guards, he was half-expecting to see the room already on fire. Instead, Azula lay on her bed, back against the wall and her hand curled near her face in a childlike manner. Although she saw Zuko come in, she said nothing, only her gaze gave away that she was aware of him at all. 

The doctor came inside to place a teapot of water onto the low table. Zuko nodded to the doctor, who bowed apologetically before shutting the door behind him. Zuko placed the wrapped box on the table beside it and knelt on the ground. 

Azula said nothing. Zuko took the pot in his hands. Within seconds, steam curled out from the delicate spout. 

“You look terrible,” Azula said.

Zuko bit down hard on his tongue before he could point out the obvious. Azula’s bangs were still woefully misshapen.

“That armor,” said Azula. “That crown. Even that topknot. So overwhelming. Does Mai enjoy that?”

“Mai and I aren’t together anymore,” said Zuko. 

“How long has that been?” said Azula.

Zuko frowned. He thought it would have been obvious, considering how he had, at one point, ran away from the Fire Nation and then showed up again to lock Mai in a cell so he could escape Boiling Rock. That didn’t seem like something that Mai would leave Azula uninformed of. 

“I guess a while,” he said. 

“So she doesn’t love you anymore,” said Azula.

Zuko crossed his arms.

“Are you trying to make a point?” he said.

“She doesn’t love you more, anymore,” said Azula. 

“More than what?” 

Azula stared at him. Zuko untied the cloth from the box and lifted the lid. A disc of condensed dried tea leaves was nestled in yellow silk. He carefully took the pick attached to the bottom of the lid and chiseled out a portion of the tea leaves. All the while he waited for what Azula had to say next.

She kept her mouth shut. Zuko broke apart the clumps of dried leaves into a separate porcelain pot. He then poured the hot water into it as well, let it sit for several seconds, before pouring a cup of jasmine for himself, and then a second one. 

“This is from the Yanguo Province,” said Zuko. “Uncle’s favorite.”

Neither of them had an opinion on tea. Still, when Zuko had asked Iroh for a recommendation of tea leaves earlier, Iroh was so moved by this alleged change of heart that he shed even more tears than he did when Zuko had changed heart about the fighting the Avatar. Iroh had spent more than enough time teaching Zuko the precise way to brew jasmine tea and the history behind the farms from where it came  with so much joy that even Zuko did not have the heart to tell Iroh that hot leaf juice was hot leaf juice, no matter what sort of china it came in. 

“They say that the farmers fertilize their jasmine plants with bruised moon peaches,” said Zuko. “That’s why they’re so much more fragrant.” 

Azula did not move. But she did watch Zuko pointedly, her eyes following the subtle movements of his hands as he picked up the teacups as thin as seashells. 

“Remember how we used to be dragged to tea ceremonies as kids all the time?” said Zuko.

“Is that waterbender here again?” said Azula.

Zuko lifted the cup to his lips. 

“No,” he said. 

Azula sniffed.

“So much for her,” she said.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” said Zuko.

Azula rolled onto her back. Zuko set down the cup of tea.

“She’s a good friend,” said Zuko. 

He pushed the cup of tea closer to Azula’s side of the table. Azula’s shoulders hunched. 

“Let me guess,” said Azula. “She is with you everywhere you go. She helps you with everything that you do.”

“As a matter of fact, they do,” said Zuko. “They were with me when I was drafting new trade agreements with the nations.”

“And what did they suggest?” said Azula. “That the Fire Nation trades tea?” 

Zuko paused.

“Yanguo Province tea is well known all over the world,” he said.

Azula smiled at the ceiling. 

“Oh, Zuzu,” said Azula. “You’re so trusting. You’ve always been so naive.”

“How,” said Zuko.

Azula rolled back towards Zuko, propping her head up with her elbow. 

“An export dependent on farming is pitiful,” said Azula. “Think about it. Completely dependent on the weather conditions. Only available during certain seasons. And goodness knows if a bad blight or insect infestation will render your entire economy empty-handed. And where would the Fire Nation be then? At the mercy of everyone else, helpless and starving because of their idiot Fire Lord who trusted his new  _ best _ friends who have no reason to care about our people.” 

“I see you’re feeling more eloquent today,” Zuko said. 

“Be reasonable,” said Azula. “Your heart has always been so foolishly open, Zuko. That’s what makes you the perfect Fire Lord--for everyone else but the Fire Nation. My heart aches for our people. Imagine how frightened they must feel that the little boy who betrayed them over and over again is now their leader.” 

Zuko knew that she was desperate. That she had no basis of knowing any of the things she said as fact. But she always knew him too well, and some wounds had closed but still ached. 

“I’m serving them,” said Zuko. “And I’m going to make them better than they ever have been in the past hundred years. They’ll be peaceful. They could be loved--”

Azula spat on the ground. Zuko drew back in surprise. 

“And how,” said Azula, “would you have managed  _ that _ ? How were you going to convince the world to love you?” 

“I wouldn’t,” said Zuko. 

“You couldn’t,” said Azula. “When could you ever? Remember, Zuzu. Pity isn’t the same as love.” 

“Fear isn’t either,” said Zuko.

Azula’s face slackened immediately. Zuko felt a twinge of satisfaction, that after a lifetime of being pinned and prodded like a toy he had found the one little button that made Azula twitched. 

“You don’t have to worry about that,” Azula said. Her voice was flat. “No one fears you.” 

She drew her sheets tightly around her shoulders. 

“I’m only warning you, you know,” Azula said. “For your sake. And the Fire Nation’s. Those friends of yours are only using you for their own agenda. You’re a puppet king. Placed onto the throne by a foreign power. Pushing policies that benefit them more than your own people--”

“We nearly destroyed all the other nations because of a war we started,” said Zuko. “It’s not being a puppet king. It’s trying to make things right again.”

“That’s what they want you to think,” said Azula. “And they’ll use pretty words like harmony and balance and justice when really they’re playing you. They’re only going to turn on you.” 

“They’re my friends,” said Zuko. “And they were my friends even before I was crowned.” 

“That makes no difference,” Azula said. “How can you be so stupid, Zuko? Maybe you aren’t trying to kill me after all. Maybe you’re just absolutely ignorant of everything. The other nations are going to destroy us. And you--you will lead them right to it.” 

Zuko took in a deep breath. Azula had miscalculated, thinking that in his love for his friends there may exist a strand of fear of them woven into it. She had thought that he did not already have to fight tooth and nail for their trust in the first place. She could not touch him anymore. Not with this.

“It’s not working, Azula,” said Zuko. “Can you just drop it?” 

“They’ll  _ turn _ on you!” Azula said. “You think that they love you but they will choose anything and anyone over you, they will leave you and you’re so  _ stupid _ to not see that!” 

Azula’s words slapped Zuko across the face. Not because of what she said, but because she let the words tear her throat on their way out. For all her show, she was not far from the soaking wet girl who howled in grief when chained to the floor. 

What was he here for, if this was all that it amounted to? 

He tried to imagine what Iroh would do, but Zuko had already brewed the tea and now he was out of ideas. He wished Iroh was here instead. Iroh could calm him down from every outburst and wave of despair. Having only just put back together his own broken heart, Zuko wasn’t sure if he knew how to mend someone else’s. 

“I’m here,” Zuko said.

“Such comfort,” Azula said. 

“Look,” said Zuko. “All that is over now. You can--the war is over, Azula. And Dad--”

“He’ll come for me,” said Azula. “He hasn’t yet. What’s taking him so long?”

“He’s in prison, Azula,” said Zuko. “We’ve gone over this again. And again. He’s in prison. He’s not sick, and he’s not coming here.”

“How would you know?” said Azula. “You didn’t know him like I did. You think a prison will keep him from finding me? He knows what you’ve done to me.”

“What? Challenged you to an Agni Kai where you tried to kill my friend?”

“You lost. You got burned.”

“You cheated. You lost the moment you tried to hurt Katara.”

“You didn’t deserve to win. Father would have supported me. He knows--he knows you don’t deserve the throne. That honor is mine.” 

“Father doesn’t have a say.”

“He will come. He has to. He would. He’ll come back. Not like everyone else. Everyone else leaves. You left.”

Zuko stopped short. Now was the time for Azula to laugh and then insult Zuko some more, but either her comedic timing was prolonged or the coldness in her stare was completely genuine.

“I gave you everything, you know,” said Azula. “Your redemption. Your honor. I got you back into Dad’s good graces. Even though you hadn’t captured the Avatar and should have been shot down for breaking your exile,  _ I _ got Dad to welcome you with open arms. I gave you absolutely everything you ever wanted and then you left. You betrayed me.” 

“You know what, Azula, it had  _ nothing _ to do with you,” Zuko snapped. 

She was lying--completely, impossibly lying. Just saying anything to manipulate him and shame him because she just  _ knew _ how to crush him. Zuko had enough of that. 

Azula’s face paled in fury.

“Nothing to do with me?” said Azula. “You threw away all my hard work! And then you come back--for  _ my  _ throne. For  _ my  _ friends.” 

“I never took your friends,” said Zuko. “The last time I saw them was at Boiling Rock, and they were furious with me.”

“They still picked you over me,” said Azula. “You betrayed Mai and she still loved you more than me, you yelled at Ty Lee--and she still loved you more than me.”

Zuko drew back, stunned. He was not so ignorant; he was the one who signed Mai and Ty Lee’s release from Boiling Rock. But after the war, Ty Lee promptly painted her face to join the Kyoshi Warriors, and Mai and he acknowledged the ways they brought the worst out of each other even when they tried to be their best. Ty Lee asked after Azula, but without making eye contact. Mai did not hear him when he mentioned that Azula was on another island. Neither of them asked to visit Azula, and Zuko never questioned their choice, but they never explained themselves further, either. 

“What happened?” Zuko said. 

Azula stared at him.

“I’m serious,” said Zuko. “I don’t know.” 

Azula clenched her fists, but she did not snarl. The doctors said that they often talked with Azula, asked her questions, what she was thinking and feeling and why. More often than not, they said, she did not cooperate, and when they pressed further she would set their hair on fire. 

“You don’t have to if you don’t want,” he said. 

“They left me,” said Azula.

She sat up, her hair crudely framing her face. There was the slightest tremor on her bottom lip, but when Zuko was just about to notice it, she curled it into a hateful sneer instead. 

“When you escaped Boiling Rock,” said Azula. “Mai challenged to fight me. And then Ty Lee attacked me. So that you could escape.”

Zuko said nothing, only stared at his emptying tea cup. He waited for her to elaborate. She did not. 

“I love Zuko more than I fear you,” Azula said. The words tasted more bitter than any tea Zuko could have brewed. “That’s what she told me.”

“Oh,” Zuko said. Mai had not mentioned this once, and the sudden revelation made him incredibly uncomfortable. 

“You hated playing with them when we were little,” said Azula. “And they were mine. You couldn’t have been worth it. And yet you were. You’re always worth it even when you aren’t. That’s why you’re so infuriating. You’re foolish and weak and soft. And yet no one minds. Why is everyone so stupid? Why didn’t you kill me?”

Zuko had a double take by the unexpected question.

“What sort of question is that?” he said.

“Why didn’t you kill me?” said Azula.

Zuko shook his head at her. 

“Do you wish that I had?” said Zuko.

“You’ve lost an Agni Kai too,” said Azula. “Didn’t you?” 

Zuko sat in silence, denial simmering in his nerves before it stilled in resignation. He picked up her untouched cup and stood up. It had gone cold since he had first poured it. If she threw it in his face, it wouldn’t necessarily leave a scar, but it would still hurt. Nonetheless, by the time he crossed the room and held it out to Azula, it was steaming. 

“I don’t like tea,” said Azula. 

“Neither do I,” said Zuko. 


	3. Chapter 3

Zuko woke up in the middle of the night and in the middle of dying. 

He had dreamt of Azula. He could never look her in the face, but he knew that she was there. He was lying on his back, wretched and twisted. The flesh on the left side of his face was raw and blistering, and so was the center of his chest. He couldn’t breathe, and his lungs were dissipating into ash. 

Zuko, Azula cried out. He could not see her. She was standing over him, but he could not turn his head. Zuko, help me. 

Zuko tried to lift his hand to touch Azula, but his arms were heavy. No matter how much he tried, he could not move his finger. 

_ Help me _ , Zuko, Azula screamed. 

Zuko tried to roll onto his side and push himself off from there, but every time he thought he turned, he found himself flat on his back again. 

_ Help me _ !

Azula’s cries were morphing to screams--livid, deranged shouting as she demanded Zuko’s help. Her roar was like a dragon’s. Help me, Zuko. Help me. Help me. HELP ME--

With one last push, Zuko crawled onto his feet and lifted his hand up until he felt for Azula’s. He held tight to her fingers, fastening her to himself before anything could come and snap its fangs at them.

Finally, he looked up to her face. Without hesitation, she burned his hand.

He stumbled back, his hand gruesome and searing in pain. He tried to run away, terror replacing his thoughts, but his feet were as heavy as iron. Azula laughed and moved towards him, and then Zuko realized that Ozai stood behind her, and behind him was Azulon, and behind him…

“Please--” he whispered.

Ozai lifted his flaming palm toward Zuko.  Zuko’s heart stopped. When he heard the roar of the fire in his ears, Zuko shook awake.

He lay still, catching his cold breath and reminding himself that he was no longer thirteen. In the first thirty seconds of consciousness he did not remember that he was safe in his own home, and that neither Ozai nor Azula were going to burst in anymore. 

He gingerly touched his scar, which had long cracked and dried by now. 

I’m loved _ , _ Zuko thought to himself.

He squeezed his eyes shut. The thought of Ozai made his insides hurt. Ozai could not burn him anymore, but it did not escape Zuko that anyone else very well could. 

My father burned me, but I am loved, he thought. 

He thought of Iroh, who stayed by his side ever since he fell in the Agni Kai. And Katara and Aang, whom he had hurt and yet they loved him anyway. To Toph and Sokka and his people, who trust him even after all the chances. He thought of Ursa, and Lu Ten, who once were. 

He burned me, but I was loved even then, and I am loved now, Zuko told himself, until his breath matched the rhythm of his pounding heart. He was not a bolt of silk, who was rendered useless and worthless if torn or burned. His father did not have that power. 

Zuko closed his eyes, inhaling and exhaling this truth, or faith. Then, at one point, gave a frustrated yell through clamped teeth as he threw his pillow over his head. It was supposed to lull him to sleep, but this day was one of those days where such things were harder to believe. 

Before the dream could fade from his memory, he heard Azula’s voice ripping from the edges until it hurt. Zuko, help me. 

Zuko squeezed his eyes shut, pressing the pillow tighter against his face.

I’m  _ trying _ . 

-

There were some days where the burn from Azula’s lightning hurt worse than others. Today was one of them. Much to Zuko’s relief, it gave him reason for last night as well. 

He only made it halfway through his meeting with representatives from the Northern Water Tribe before he had to abruptly excuse himself and curl up behind the closed door of his study, hugging his chest tightly while each breath shook his core. 

There was a knock on the door. Zuko groaned, resting his forehead against the floor. 

“Zuko?” Katara.

Oh, Zuko thought. Monkey-feathers. 

“What?” Zuko called out.

“What do you mean, what?” Katara said.

“ _ What?”  _

“Pakku told me you cut the meeting short.”

“Is that a crime? Are you my schedule keeper now?”

“He told me that you were practically crawling out of the room.” 

Zuko felt his pride sting more than the actual wound. 

“Is he going to say that to my face?” 

“I’m coming in.” 

Katara slid the door open. Zuko managed to push himself off of the ground. Her irate face immediately broke into worry. 

“It’s bad, isn’t it?” she said. “I can try to heal it more.” 

“It’s fine,” he said. “It’s just sore.” 

Katara knelt down next to Zuko, helping him sit up straighter. Zuko leaned his head against the wall, breathing deeply.  Katara’s gaze was fixed on Zuko’s chest, the scar underneath all the suit and armor, and her attention made it just as hot as it did when it absorbed an entire bolt of lightning. 

“Lie down,” said Katara. “I’ll find you a pillow.”

“What?” said Zuko. “No. I don’t need a pillow. This is a study, not a bedroom.” 

Never mind that he had just been lying down a minute ago. 

“Then I’ll get you water,” said Katara. 

“No.”

“I’ll get Iroh.”

“ _ No _ .”

“Are you going to be this stupidly stubborn all the time?”

“Are you going to be this paranoid?” 

Katara sputtered.

“I--me? Paranoid?” she said. “What am I--what are you--don’t be ridiculous. What could I be paranoid about?” 

“I don’t know, but you don’t have to be,” said Zuko. “I’m not going to die or anything and this isn’t your fault.”

Katara’s shoulders stiffened. Zuko quieted, and Katara cleared her throat and still said nothing else.

“You-- _ know _ that already, don’t you?” said Zuko. “You don’t have to make up for anything.” 

“How can you say that?” she said. “You’re hurt because of me.”

“I’m  _ alive _ because of you,” said Zuko. “Get that straight.” 

Katara tugged at the hair over her shoulder. Zuko hesitated before putting a clumsy hand on her shoulder.

“If I was  _ really _ mad at you, I’d banish you or something,” he said.

“I’m not even a Fire Nation subject,” Katara said.

“Oh. Right.”

The corner of Katara’s lips twitched. She sat down beside Zuko, stretching her legs in front of her. 

“We’ll be out of your hair soon, anyway,” Katara said. 

“Are you?”

“Yeah. Once talks with both Water Tribes are finished with, we’re going to have to go back. The Southern Water Tribe still has a lot of rebuilding to do.”

Zuko nodded. He knew that he would miss Katara and Sokka. He just wished that he didn’t have to think about it before the actual fact. 

“Uncle’s going back to Ba Sing Se,” said Zuko.

“Really?”

“Yeah. His tea shop is still there. Or at least, I hope it is. He and Toph will probably leave together.” 

“How do you feel about that?” said Katara.

Zuko looked away, self-conscious.

“I’ll be all right,” he said.

“I know you will be,” said Katara. “But what do you feel?”

“I don’t know,” said Zuko. “There’s so much that I don’t know what I’m doing. And I don’t--he’s been with me for the past three years. If he goes, it’ll feel wrong. I’ll feel--bad. I guess.”

Katara nodded. She put a comforting hand on Zuko’s.

“I understand how that’s hard and frightening,” she said. “But I hope you know that you won’t be alone even then. Have you talked with him about that?”

“No,” said Zuko. “I don’t want to worry him. I’m happy for him. He deserves retirement. And he’ll be closer to Lu Ten. That’s all he ever wanted. I just wish the Earth Kingdom wasn’t so far away.”

“It’s closer than the Southern Water Tribe is to either of you,” said Katara.

“That’s true,” Zuko said. “That’s rough.” 

They sat quietly. He wanted to ask if Katara had friends back in the Southern Water Tribe who missed her, who would have never imagined before that their young friend would return a master waterbender and a hero. But when he was about to, he couldn’t help but feel sad, and so he changed the subject instead.

“You need to see the Fire Lily Festival before you go,” he said.

“What’s that?”

“A festival for fire lilies.”

Katara shot him a look of exasperation. 

“I mean,” said Zuko, “it’s true.”

“You’re going to have to sell it to me better if this is supposed to convince me to stay longer.” 

“Have you ever seen a fire lily?” said Zuko. 

“Yes,” said Katara. “They’re beautiful. But it--I mean, it was near the end of the season.” 

“What do you mean?” said Zuko. “You’ve only been in the Fire Nation for a little while.” 

“So do they have parties in the gardens or something?” said Katara.

Zuko raised his eyebrow, but acquiesced.

“There are art exhibitions,” he said. “Paintings and poetry for the season in tea houses. There are flower markets everywhere. Flower markets on the docks. Flower markets in the streets. Flower markets in your bathroom. And you’re drowning in all sorts of teas and desserts. And also outings to the countryside where you can see the wild blooms. It lasts a week.” 

“When is that?”

“Next summer. You’re just going to have to stick around.”

“You’re beginning to sound as dry as Sokka. I don’t need any more Sokkas.”

Zuko smiled wryly.

“It’s actually next week,” said Zuko. “You guys should go.”

“You should come,” said Katara. When Zuko sighed, Katara countered. “Sokka can teach you how to fake sick so you can skip all your meetings.”

“That’ll really inspire the Fire Nation. Their new Fire Lord, playing hooky in his first month.” He shook his head. “I’ve been a couple times. My mom would always buy a painting from each artist, no matter how good they were.”

“Where are they now?” said Katara.

“No idea,” said Zuko. “My father took them all down when she left. He probably threw them away.” 

Katara bit her lip. Zuko knew that the question was on the tip of Katara’s tongue. He only wished that he could answer her. 

“Have you visited your father?” she said. “Since he’s been sentenced?”

Zuko paused. The question immediately made him feel out of place, as if he was in the wrong time or the wrong body. The answer was no. He had not gone anywhere near the prison since his father was officially shut up in there. He wished he hadn’t thought of his father since then, either, but that was untrue. It should be easy to say no. He was never a liar.

But when Katara asked, Zuko realized that such an answer scared him. Because what child, no matter what sort of relationship they had, would abandon their own parent? 

“Not yet,” he said. He already stuttered over that single word. 

“Okay,” said Katara. 

Tell me not to go anymore, he thought. Tell me not to see my father anymore. Tell me it’s okay if I gave up on him. I’m one step ahead of you. 

“I haven’t got time yet,” he said. “Azula probably needs it more. She’s--I don’t even know what’s going on with her. I want to do something to help, but--”

“You’re not her doctor, Zuko,” said Katara. 

“I’m nowhere remotely near that,” said Zuko.

“You know what?” Katara said. “Maybe you should have a nice trip to the--the mountains, like you said you would, with Toph. That would be good for you. We could all go. The whole gang. It’d be fun, Zuko.”

The sudden change of subject was unlike Katara, but Zuko couldn’t blame her. Azula was not a conversation topic that anyone enjoyed. 

“That does sound fun,” said Zuko.

“See?” said Katara. “It’ll be good for you.”

They both smiled, for the other’s sake. 

-

The Azula smell that Zuko recognized in the beginning had now aged, taking prominence over the wilting peonies crammed into a bottle. Azula’s hair almost looked like ink dribbled over a pale head because of how greasy it was. She hadn’t moved from the bed, and for all Zuko knew she had stayed there all week. 

Zuko took in a deep breath, trying not to wince. If Azula was offended, she did not show it. 

“Hey,” he said. 

Azula was sprawled gracelessly on her cot. Zuko had gotten used to Azula’s initial silent treatment; he generally could not count on it because there was always something that she was going to snap at him for. Still, he did not prefer it. He never knew how to respond to silence, and that was precisely how his family loved to respond to him. 

Zuko set the basin of water that he had carried down onto the small desk, along with a fine comb and a small bottle of perfumed soap. Azula cast a sidelong glance at it. Her gaze hardened. 

“It’ll make you feel better,” said Zuko.

Azula set her jaw. 

“I thought you liked washing your hair,” said Zuko.

The scratch marks around the discreet patches on her skin were deeper and redder than before. She never did give up without a fight. 

“The doctors say you don’t ever want to leave the room,” said Zuko. “I thought, well, I guess I can just bring the bath here.You are starting to smell like Uncle.”

Ah. That was the one thing that made Azula’s eyebrow twitch. 

Zuko dragged the seat in the corner of the room over to the desk. He then pointed expectantly to it.

“There,” he said. “Soap and everything.” 

Azula didn’t move. Zuko felt his hairline heat up with frustration already.

“I know you hate being dirty,” he said. “You used to take three baths a day in the summer.”  

Azula rolled onto her side so that her back faced Zuko. Zuko closed his eyes and counted to five. Maybe she wasn’t doing any of this specifically to be difficult, but he did not know how else to take it when she wouldn’t say anything else. 

“The soap is scented with egg flowers,” said Zuko. “You love the smell.” 

Azula crossed her arms tighter, until her shoulders hunched. Zuko was an inch away of yelling out in frustration; he knew that he was more upset at himself than Azula, but his emotions funnelled onto his sister nonetheless. He gripped the back of the chair, wishing it was a little sturdier so that he wouldn’t crack it. 

“Here,” said Zuko.

He took Azula’s hand. She didn’t resist, but her fingers tightened into a fist. 

“Come on,” he said. “I’ll help you. Just sit on the chair.” 

Azula glared at Zuko, but she did not pull away. Zuko hoisted Azula onto her feet and steered her to the chair. He had no idea how to wash his sister’s hair, which growing up was her secret pride and joy. He could see the tangles by just a glance, and the thought of snagging one was enough to make him wary.

“Okay,” Zuko said. He wondered how long it would take him to regret this. 

He placed his hands on either side of the basin and waited until the water began to steam. Azula only stared ahead, her gaze loosely fixed on the long wall painting of a winding river. Zuko uneasily pushed the chair so that the back was against the desk. He took her hair in his hand, surprised by the weightiness of it all, and let it fall into the basin of water.

“Put your head back,” said Zuko. 

Azula did not respond. Zuko sighed heavily before lifting her chin with his fingers so that her head dipped backward, wetting more of the top of her hair. He cupped his hand and splashed water up to the roots before tackling it with a fine bone comb. 

Zuko was not delicate. The comb was awkward in his hand, and he either dug too deep into Azula’s hair or barely skimmed it. When he came across the tangles, he had half the mind to take a pair of scissors and snip it all off. He kept that to himself, at least. 

Neither of them said a word. For the first time, it wasn’t entirely uncomfortable. 

At one point, Azula let her head fall back fully, so that her hair coloring the basin of water. It reminded Zuko of cleaning a brush, the moment he dipped it into a clean pool of water the ink clouded it immediately. He worked the soap into her roots with his fingers, wetting the sleeves of his suit. Whenever the water’s temperature faltered to lukewarm, Zuko would take a deep breath and then steam crawled up the glass on the vanity. 

“Is this okay?” said Zuko.

Azula exhaled deeply. He could only take that as a yes. 

When Azula was upset at him, she would push him, taunt him, outsmart him and laugh when he fell on his back. This deadened monotony was not his sister. And when he thought back when Azula would sneer and jeer at him, Ozai was always somewhere in the sidelines nodding in approval. Maybe the past fourteen years were not his sister, either. 

“Did I ever tell you about what happened during my banishment?” said Zuko.

Azula audibly groaned. Zuko narrowed his eyes.

“Well, if you’re not going to say anything, then I’m going to talk,” he said. “When I was first banished--shipped off and everything before I was even able to get up after the Agni Kai with Father--I wouldn’t move for weeks either. Uncle had to convince me to eat.” 

His chest itched. There had never been much reason to recount those years to anyone else, much less his sister, who he had known for almost all his life and trusted for almost none of it. He would rather be sharing this with Katara, or Aang, hell, even Suki, whom he barely knew. The worst that any of them could do was not understand. 

But maybe that  _ was  _ the worst thing. 

“I missed home,” Zuko said. “I missed things being the way they used to be. I was just getting used to Mom not being around anymore and I thought I’d be okay, and then--Anyway. I missed home. I missed...feeling like I had a place in the world. And being worthy of having a place in the world. And I missed Father.” 

Azula’s hands suddenly gripped the armrests. Zuko swallowed, but he continued.

“He just burned my face off and I still missed him,” said Zuko. “I don’t even know what it was about him that I would have missed. I missed his approval.”

Azula rolled her eyes. Zuko ran the comb through her hair, and deliberately snagged at a tangle. She glared at him.

“I did,” said Zuko. “I just wanted him to let me come home. And for years I would kill myself and everyone else around me just to find the Avatar so that he would. It never occurred to me that maybe he would miss me.” 

He carefully worked the teeth of the comb past a series of tangles. He did not know how to properly lead a nation, and even less how to take care of his sister. Washing her hair was the best thing he had done so far. 

But that was perhaps the most conflicting bit. He washed her hair, kept the water warm around her head, and tried with each word to built a bridge between them despite having no one on the other side to help. And through it all, he still felt a heavy stone in his heart, the memories of the cruel words Azula had said to and about him for years, the way she would break his heart for sport crushed into a pit that ate at him little by little until he felt hollow. He spoke softly even though in the back of his mind he was screaming seven years’ worth of hurt. She was a product of Ozai, but Zuko was a product of her as well. 

But you still love her anyway, said Lu Ten’s voice, which Zuko had long forgotten how it truly sounded like. Don’t you? 

“I didn’t think it was possible to be missed at all,” said Zuko. “Even with Mom--I love Mom, but since I never knew why she had gone, I just assumed...that she just left us behind. Until Uncle thought I had been killed in an explosion. He only missed me for several hours, but even then, when he found me--he hugged me. I thought he wouldn’t let me go. Dad would have...” 

He paused, collecting his thoughts.

“Had you ever had a moment, Azula,” said Zuko, “when you realized that maybe you weren’t unlovable after all?” 

Zuko looked down at Azula and felt a sudden pang in his chest. As she sat back, letting Zuko wash her unbound hair, she stared up at him as if he was the last thing on the earth. Zuko couldn’t put his finger to it, but something about it made him want to cry.

“You know,” Zuko said, his voice strained. “You look a lot like Mom.” 

He lifted her hair out of the basin and lay it flat on a small towel so that it would not drip down Azula’s dress. He had watched Katara braid her hair before, and mimicked her deft fingers in his memory. He combed back her uneven bangs and cautiously braided her thick hair, one strand over the other, the other, the other, until those shorn mistakes were hidden in the fabric of her hair. 

“That’s funny,” Azula said. She looked up to him with wide, gold eyes. It made her look almost her age. “I could almost say the same thing to you.” 

Zuko’s heart skipped a beat, but Azula closed her mouth and did not make another sound. So neither did he, his heart racing to the point of aching as he braided her hair until it reached her back. 


	4. Chapter 4

Unfortunately for Zuko, Katara looked beautiful with fire lilies in her hair. It was a rather sudden thought that he had when he turned around and found that a flower vendor had given her a free bloom, and suddenly became so uncomfortable that he swallowed down an entire bag of fire flakes in one take. When she asked why his face had gone red, all he had to do was point to the empty snack bag and shuffle ahead of them. 

“If we go to the poetry reading right before noon, we could pick up lunch at one of the flower tea booths and we can eat it on the way to the countryside to view the flowers,” said Sokka, his face buried in a map as most of them ignored him. “We can stay there for a good three hours, but then we need to get back by four. There’s apparently a popular play in the town square going on that we shouldn’t miss.”

“Who knew the Fire Nation was so into dramatics?” said Toph.

“Isn’t hard to believe,” Katara said slyly.

Zuko huffed indignantly. 

“If it’s  _ Love Amongst the Dragons _ , I’ll pass,” he said. 

He picked up a carved brush from a merchant’s table. The back was intricately inlaid with mother-of-pearl flowers, sprouting from the smooth handle. As he ran his finger along the pattern, Aang looked over Zuko’s shoulder at what he was holding. 

“Are you looking for a gift for Azula?” said Aang.

Zuko turned sharply at Aang, who interpreted his disbelief as mortification of being caught.

“It’s okay,” said Aang. “Katara told me you were still visiting her often.”

Katara winced when Aang referenced her. Zuko bit down on the inside of his cheek. Katara generally meant well, but he couldn’t help but feel irritated anyway. 

“It’s nothing,” Zuko said. 

“I think that’s wonderful of you,” Aang said. “It must not have been easy to forgive her, and I’m glad for you.”

Aang beamed at him, which made Zuko feel even more uncomfortable. He promptly set the brush down, but Aang had already moved on to the next stall of silk. Zuko hung back, bristling, while Katara sidled next to him.

“I’m sorry,” said Katara. “I didn’t think about whether you wanted it to be secret.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Zuko said. “It’s Aang. He’d have figured it out eventually.” 

“I just told him that you were seeing Azula when he asked where you go all the time,” Katara said. “I didn’t tell him about--about what happened during it, or anything.” 

“That explains a bit,” Zuko said, giving Aang a sidelong glance. 

He and Katara hung back from the rest of their friends, who were astounded over intricate paper cuttings of fire lilies, feathery like lace. 

“Hey,” said Katara. “Had you actually forgiven Azula?” 

Zuko’s heart sank. He had hoped that he could not think of Azula or his father for the whole day when he was at the FIre Lily Festival. He couldn’t assume that he could be distracted enough from the fact that he was Fire Lord, and up to his ears in keeping the nation from falling apart, but he was beginning to forget what it was like to not be distressed by them. 

“I don’t know,” Zuko said. 

“It’s okay if you haven’t,” Katara said. 

“Is it?” said Zuko. “I see her often. I help clean her room and bring food she liked. But sometimes, when I’m taking the ferry to the facility, or even when I’m sitting in the same room as her, I just--suddenly get angry at her.”

“You don’t have to forgive someone to help them, Zuko,” said Katara. “And...I agree with Aang. I think it’s really big of you to see her even when you don’t always want to.” 

Zuko nodded mutely, and without conviction. Katara reached out and squeezed Zuko’s hand assuringly. It helped him breathe a little more easily. 

“Sorry,” said Zuko.

“Come on,” said Katara. “You want some lily jellies?” 

Right before Katara could take Zuko to a little stall that sold delicate cups of clear jellies with lily petals infused inside, a royal messenger swam through the crowd towards Zuko. The messenger called out for Zuko, and Zuko froze, the nerves in his chest suddenly justified. 

“Fire Lord Zuko,” the messenger wheezed. “I apologize for interrupting your outing--”

“What’s wrong?” Zuko said. 

Katara called out to Sokka and the others to wait up. Aang jogged back to them, a look of worry dawning on his face. The messenger bowed deeply, almost ashamed in manner.

“You must return to the palace immediately,” said the messenger. “It’s urgent.”

Zuko knew it was childish of him, but he wished that he could just tell the messenger that he didn’t want to, that he will deal with whatever apocalypse was ensuing later, please ask Iroh what to do because even if Zuko ran back to the palace, he knew so little about how to help everyone that he would end up asking Iroh for help as well. But there was a regal crown pinned on his top knot and great expectations on his shoulders. He could not shrug those off however much they were suffocating. 

“What’s it about?” said Zuko. 

“It’s your father, Fire Lord Zuko,” said the messenger. “He had tried to escape.” 

Zuko felt his blood go cold. He looked helplessly to his friends, who were equally stunned in silence. 

“We’ll go with you,” Aang said.

“No,” Zuko said when he found his voice again. “No, you shouldn’t have to--”

But he stopped short, because he knew too deeply how much he did not want to do things on his own anymore. He nodded mutely before he followed the messenger back to the palace, his ears ringing with the thumping of his pulse. Someone had put a hand on his back, but he did not turn his head to see whose hand it was. 

Iroh was in the meeting room when Zuko arrived, his face turning graver when he saw Zuko come in. Zuko felt sweat streak his hands even though he did not know what to expect. If his father had escaped, then there would be a greater uproar. His people would not be safe to celebrate if his father was being a threat. So if Zuko had been called in--

“Zuko,” said Iroh, taking his nephew by the shoulder. “I am sorry that you had to be called away from your free day.”

“What did Dad do?” said Zuko. “How did this happen? I thought we had the highest security on his cell.” 

“He had not gotten far,” said Iroh. He turned to the rest of the gang who stood behind Zuko, who stuck out with uncertainty in the bitter crowd. “Would you mind stepping outside for a moment?”

Zuko swallowed hard. He tried not to watch his friends leave. It only made him feel more nervous. When the cloth on the door fell behind Sokka, Zuko turned to Iroh, his voice suddenly higher than it was before. He did not know what it was that he feared. 

“What’s going on?” said Zuko.

“He attacked the guard that had come to serve food,” said Iroh. “Took his keys and broke out. The alarm was sounded immediately, and while he tried to ran away he had fallen down the flight of stairs that led to the exit.” 

Zuko waited for Iroh to expand on this point. Iroh said nothing else, and Zuko wanted to either laugh or snap at him.

“Okay,” he said. “That’s--How is the guard?” 

Iroh hesitated. Zuko’s patience was starting to fray.

“Uncle, why did you call me here if you’re not going to tell me anything?” he said.

“The guard is with the healers,” Iroh said. “He had sustained a head injury but he should be all right. Zuko, Ozai had broken his neck.” 

“Then get him to the healers as well,” Zuko said. “I don’t want to hear anything about him, you know that.”

It wasn’t until after he had finished speaking did he realize just exactly what his uncle had said. His initial frustration halted in its tracks, and when Iroh’s shoulders slumped, Zuko felt a shiver run down his back. 

“He’s not--Father isn’t--”

“Ozai has died, Fire Lord Zuko,” Iroh said. “He had fallen down the stone stairs and his neck broke on impact.” 

Zuko blinked once, twice, in the chilled silence of the entire room of advisors and ministers waiting for a response. And then all of a sudden, he was  _ furious _ . 

“Everyone,  _ get out _ ,” he said.

There was not a moment of hesitation as his chief advisors filed out of the room. As they passed through the heavy cloth over the door, Zuko could see Sokka trying to peek through the gap from the distance, but when Zuko turned away roughly, the next time Zuko stole a glance back, he was not there anymore. Not that it mattered--Toph could probably feel his pounding heart through the floor at this very moment. 

When the room was empty save him and Iroh, Zuko’s fury still did not subside. He stood frozen in the middle of the room, waiting for Iroh to say  _ anything _ , except Iroh was watching him in return. Zuko gripped his fists until he could taste fire in his throat and smell the heat on his fingers.

“Leave,” Zuko said. “Please.” 

“Nephew,” said Iroh. “I understand that this is a lot for you to take in--”

“It isn’t,” said Zuko. “It’s stupid.” 

Iroh did not respond. Zuko turned away from Iroh, freezing his gaze at a wall map of the four nations. 

“This is so stupid,” Zuko echoed.

“You must be confused,” said Iroh. “It will be a lot to digest--”

“No,” said Zuko. “It’s not. And I’m not. Stop saying that.” 

“What are you thinking then, Zuko?”  

It struck him that he was angry at Iroh as well. He was angry at Ozai, angry at Toph for unintentionally listening in, but he was angry at Iroh, because Iroh was standing there, expecting Zuko to grieve. 

“So this is it?” said Zuko. “We avoided giving him a death sentence--so he could accidentally break his skull?”

The total humility of the situation was almost laughable if it did not strike Zuko like a punch in the gut. Ozai had terrorized Zuko for nearly his entire life. And Zuko loved him for nearly his entire life all the same. Ozai had torn down Zuko’s existence with mere words, took his mother away, burned his face, threw him out of his home, and tried to kill him in cold blood. Ozai was the one who Zuko was most scared of in the entire world, and he was now dead by a flight of stairs. 

“Do you want to see him?” Iroh said quietly. 

“No,” said Zuko. “No--why would I want that? He’s--I didn’t want to see him alive. Why would I want to see him when he’s--?” 

Suddenly Zuko’s throat closed up, and he choked on his own breath. He felt his fire spread rapidly, searing him like an embrace as he felt himself tremble even though he  could not understand why. Iroh put a hand on Zuko’s back, and something snapped inside of him, not so much his nerve but rather a bone that left him crumbling.

“I’m sorry you feel so lost,” Iroh said. 

Zuko looked down at his fist. He knew he had the power to burn this entire room into soot. He could set Ozai’s glamor and gold aflame, but Ozai’s bones would never protest. So instead, he laughed bitterly.

“He never even told me where Mom was,” he said. “The bastard.”

 

-

 

Despite everything that Ozai had done, it did not feel right to place his ashes anywhere besides near Azulon’s grave. Even though Ozai was arguably responsible for Azulon’s death. 

The cremation was not public, and Zuko would not have gone either if his absence did not communicate nefarious involvement. Because of that, Zuko stood in place dressed in ceremonial white almost out of spite; Zuko was not his father in any manner. 

His friends were kind and that was the problem. Zuko did not want kindness; he wanted to go back to work, go back to leading his friends through the Fire Lily Festival and arguing about who had the better cuisine out of the four nations. He would rather Toph punch him in the arm and tell him that he was doing a good job. He wished that they could already understand that death did not awaken whatever small shred of love Zuko still held for Ozai. 

He was disappointed that Sokka did not have any jokes about the fact that the war criminal died because he tripped. But perhaps that was bitterness speaking. 

Ozai’s mile-high painting still hung in the great halls of the palace, adorned with dragons in bright gold thread. All his life, that larger-than-life portrait stunned Zuko, inspired him, frightened him, confused him--now, whenever he passed it, Zuko felt this unrecognizable desire to draw his fist back and send a jet of fire straight into its face and  _ scream _ . 

Maybe he thought he would be free of all emotion and thought when his father died. He felt everything but free. 

Then there was the matter of Azula.

He did not want to see her. He did not want to be the one to tell her. That was the advantage of being Fire Lord. He could delegate. 

Maybe he should want to see her. She was not the only family he had left. He had Uncle Iroh, and he swore that someday he would have Ursa again. But Azula would have neither, so he was the only family left for her. 

But he did not want to see her. She would not be a comfort for him. And he had trouble enough admitting to himself he wanted comfort at all. 

He crammed his days with work instead, because when he wasn’t working, he felt this growing ball of fire in his chest that consumed the rest of his thoughts. Surprisingly, Sokka was helpful in helping Zuko schedule every minute into efficiency. He pinned a ten foot scroll on the wall of Zuko’s study, and Zuko grudgingly appreciated the fact that Sokka gave him not a single moment of free time. 

But one night, when Sokka scheduled seven hours and forty-five minutes of sleep, Zuko couldn’t. He undid his top knot and took off his armor and then he thought about his father, and something fought fiercely in his chest until he wanted to shout. And by the looks of it, he was not the only one.

Out in the gardens, lit by solitary lamps, Katara sat by the pond. Her knees were drawn up to her chest, and she played absentmindedly with the water from the pond. She lifted a balloon of water before her, and with just a twist of her hand it elongated and crystallized into an ice spike. She bent it back to water, then back to ice, over and over again, the only difference being the point sharpening with each turn.  

She sat where Zuko normally took refuge, so Zuko hung back behind the pillar. He was going to turn away, maybe lock himself in a library or train in the grounds to let off steam, but then he stopped and realized that he would want to talk to Katara. 

He left for a short moment, and when he returned, he carried a small tin of dried dates with him, and Katara still kept her vigil with the turtle-duck pond. The ducklings were probably asleep in the reeds, but a solitary turtle-duck lazily cruised through the water, picking at the weeds here and there. 

He cut through the grass towards the pond, tracking his steps with the little light that the lamps hanging along the veranda and the summer moon. He sat down next to Katara, holding the tin in both hands.

“Hey,” he said.

“Oh my--” Katara jumped to her feet, but when she saw it was Zuko sitting in the grass, she flicked a spit of water into his hair. Zuko wrinkled his nose and shook his head vigorously to shake the water from his head. “You could have announced yourself instead of sneaking up on me!” 

“Force of habit,” Zuko said.

Katara sat back down, smoothing down her hair. Zuko set the tin down between them. He picked up a dried date and ripped it in half to pick out the pit. 

“Turtle-ducks like it when you feed them,” said Zuko. “And I think this one--” He nodded to the turtle-duck preening its shell in the middle of the pond. “--likes fruit, particularly.” 

“How can you tell them apart?” said Katara.

“Shell pattern,” said Zuko. “And food preference. See?” 

He ripped the dried date into smaller pieces, gummy fruit wrapped in crinkled wine red skin. He flicked the bits out onto the water, which the turtle-duck gobbled up immediately. He held out his hand to Katara, who took some of the dates as well.

“Try this,” said Zuko. 

He pulled up his sleeve and dipped his fingertips into the water. The turtle-duckling noticed the ripples in the middle of its scavenging and looked up to Zuko, who turned out his hand and held out the palmful of shredded dried dates. The turtle-duck shook its tail feathers and immediately swam to Zuko, eating from his palm. 

“Me next,” Katara said. 

She held out her eager hand to the turtle-duck, who was too busy nibbling at the lines on Zuko’s palm. When the turtle-duck turned away instead, Katara’s fingers twitched, and a gentle wave in the pond carried the perplexed turtle-duck straight in front of her.

“That’s cheating,” said Zuko. 

“I’m just giving him a little nudge,” said Katara. 

They sat quietly as the turtle-duck greedily fed on the rest of the date. Only the sound of midnight crickets came in between them. Zuko took up another date, tearing it apart with his fingers. 

“How are you?” Katara said.

“I’m okay,” said Zuko.

A beat. Katara plucked the pit from the half of the date. 

“It’s okay if you’re not,” she said.

“But I  _ am _ ,” said Zuko. “I get that you all think I’m sad but I’m not.”

“You don’t have to be sad,” said Katara. “But you are  _ something _ .” 

Zuko laughed mirthlessly. 

“There’s nothing to be said,” he said. “He was a terrible father. I don’t miss him. There’s nothing about him that I miss. Anything that I would miss about him, it isn’t even about him.” 

He brushed the hair from his eyes, trying to look distracted. Katara pressed her lips together. She shredded the date into bits and popped a small morsel into her mouth. 

“It doesn’t make a difference,” Zuko said. “Even if he wasn’t dead, I would never have wanted to see him. Not really. I wouldn’t--I wouldn’t have tried to talk to him like I am with Azula. He would have been dead to me alive anyway. So why should this be different? It’s not.” 

He picked a long reed from the side of the pond, wrapping the stiff stalk around his finger. He set a small spark at the end of it, where it began to smoke and crawl slowly up the stalk towards his finger. 

“Are you holding something back?” said Katara.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” said Zuko.

“I mean, it sounds like there  _ is _ a difference,” said Katara. “And he wasn’t a stranger. I think you’re angry about something.” 

“I’m always angry,” said Zuko.

“You’re not,” said Katara. “And when you are angry, it’s not for no reason.”

Zuko watched the reed crumble into ash while the small flame edged closer to his finger. He stamped it out with his thumb at the last minute, and felt the momentary sting before it dissipated.

“I loved him,” Zuko said. 

He felt almost dirty just saying it. Like there was something wrong with him for loving Ozai. But his love for Ozai was the entire reason Zuko had ever crossed paths with Katara in the first place. 

“He knew how desperately that I loved him, and he never knew how much I hate him,” he said. “Katara, I think I actually hate him.”

His voice shook at that, but he did not know why. He thought that he ought to be proud of it.

“Why do you think that?” said Katara.

“Because I am so  _ mad _ that he’s dead,” said Zuko. “I’m angry because I can’t yell at him now. I can’t shout at him or burn his face in return and I can’t tell him how much he hurt me and how much I still--can’t sleep because of him.” 

He pulled his finger from the reed and crumpled it in his fist. When he let his fist go, all that was left was ash. He didn’t dare to look at Katara’s face, but he could hear her soft and even breaths beside him. This comforted Zuko, because it meant he did not shock her. 

“Not that he would care,” said Zuko. “Even if he did know.” 

He took a piece of date from Katara’s hand and tossed it into the pond. The turtle-duck chased after it promptly. 

“That must be so hard to deal with,” Katara said. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to be,” said Zuko. “I’m just being stupid.”

“You’re not stupid,” said Katara.

“It’s kind of stupid,” said Zuko. “Just--a couple of months ago, I was demanding Aang to kill my father. And now I’m upset that he’s dead. What did I expect?” 

“Those aren’t stupid feelings, Zuko,” said Katara. “Feelings aren’t straightforward, and there’s no right answer to how you’re supposed to feel. Even if it you think it’s irrational, you still  _ feel _ them, and that’s real.” 

She rested her chin against her knees, her fingers digging into her legs. Zuko dipped his hand into the pond, washing the ashes from his fingers. 

“What were you thinking about?” he said. “Before I interrupted you?”

Katara took in a deep breath. She turned her head to face Zuko, her cheek resting against one knee, and she took a moment just to watch Zuko, as if she was waiting for him to respond for her. 

“I was thinking about Yon Rha,” Katara said. 

Zuko’s heart jumped, but he did not say a word. Katara lowered her gaze.

“I feel bad talking to you about it,” she said.

“You don’t have to feel bad,” Zuko said. “I don’t mind at all.” 

“That’s not it,” said Katara. “I feel bad--because I’m afraid that you think that I’m a bad person.”

Zuko’s eyes widened. Tears filled Katara’s eyes and she turned away quickly to toss the rest of the date into the water. But by then, the turtle-duck had swam away into the full moon’s reflection. 

“Katara, why do you think that?” said Zuko.

“Because I wanted to kill Yon Rha,” said Katara. “The moment you told me that you knew how to find the man who killed my mother, I wanted to kill him. Up until I was seconds away from doing it, I wanted to kill him. And I didn’t forgive him when I decided not to. I didn’t feel compassion for him. I would have done it, Zuko. I would have driven all that ice straight through his body. But I couldn’t, because--just as I was about to, I imagined Mom telling me, don’t do it, Katara. She wouldn’t have wanted me to do it.” 

Her voice broke. She hastily pressed the heel of her hand into her streaming eye. Zuko let his head hang low as he listened. He kept close to Katara’s side, and although it was a warm night, he felt her shivering. 

“He hurt you,” said Zuko. “He hurt your entire family. How could anyone ever blame you for feeling that way about him?” 

“Because I knew you wouldn’t have done it,” Katara said. 

She dragged her sleeve over her eyes. When Zuko watched Azula cry or scream or rage, he always felt as if he was an intruder in his own conversation But as he watched Katara cry, as sad and nervous as it made Zuko, his only concern was to make Katara feel safe, even if he himself did not feel secure. 

“I know that I don’t even know half of the story of how much Ozai and Azula hurt you,” said Katara. “But when you had every chance to kill them--and no one would have even batted an eye, the nations probably would have  _ cheered _ \--you didn’t. You showed mercy to them. You even visit Azula. I know that it’s hard for you but you do it anyway. So when you told me you were visiting Azula and when you told Iroh not to give Ozai the death sentence--I just felt so awful. Like maybe you would look back to when you took me to find Yon Rha and wonder why I was so bad.”

“I don’t think that about you,” said Zuko. “Not even a little bit.” 

Katara swallowed hard. She shook her head vigorously, and when Zuko raised a hand to try to touch her back, she stopped him with a hand on his wrist.

“My father may have banished my mother, but he hadn’t killed her,” said Zuko. “If he did--if he did, I wouldn’t have felt any differently from you, Katara. I don’t know what that says about either of us, but you’re not alone and I’m not better than you. In any way. You went through my worst nightmare--I wouldn't ask you to be merciful. And remember, I wanted Aang to kill my father. You heard me argue with him. And when he didn’t, and I had to decide on whether or not he should have the death sentence--I felt bitter at Aang. I was angry at him because if only Aang had just killed Ozai in war, then I wouldn’t have to think about it myself. I wanted Aang--this little monk kid who was raised believing to show mercy on all living things--to do my bitter work.” 

He had not realized that this was what he had felt until the words came out of his mouth; when they did, he felt the painful, tangled mess in his chest gradually make sense, like he had diagnosed his own mysterious illness. 

“And Azula?” he said. “Sometimes when I’m visiting Azula, I get so tired that I don’t want to. I wish that I could take care of her. But I also wish that I could take her by the shoulders and just yell into her face for everything she’s done. I’m trying to take care of my sister and at the same time I’m fighting the urge to just snap at her.” 

“Zuko,” said Katara, a little breathless. “That just gave me so much relief."

“What in the world are you talking about?” said Zuko. “I just told you I wish I could stop helping my own sister.”

“And yet you don’t,” said Katara. She ran both hands through her thick hair. “Azula is--terrible, and yet you don’t. Even though it’s so tempting to. Just because you feel tempted to give up on her and get angry at her doesn’t make you a bad person, even if you feel upset at yourself for it. It makes you better that you want to see her, and try anyway. And I _understand_. I feel that way a lot too, even to people who aren't awful to me.”

Zuko tried to find the words to reply with, but he couldn’t. He always knew that being a good person did not come naturally to him like it did with others. To be better was always a wrestling match when he had hoped it would come as naturally as growing taller, and some people happened to be giants around him. Was it supposed to be this viscerally relieving, though, to know that Katara felt the weight of the fight just as much as he did? 

“I know how everyone looks at me and say I’m this goody-two-shoes, nice and compassionate person,” Katara said quietly. “I know that Aang looks up to me that way and Sokka had needed that from me. But I only really showed compassion on people who I thought deserved it. On helpless villages or lost refugees or people who hadn’t done anything wrong and just happened to be suffering. But once I think that maybe they’re a little bad...well,  _ you _ know,” she said with a brittle voice, looking at Zuko with swollen eyes. “I was terrible to you. I would have sent you back to your father who would have killed you.” 

“You also offered to heal Uncle for me even though I had done nothing but hunt you guys beforehand,” said Zuko. “And then, in Ba Sing Se, you offered to heal  _ me _ . Yeah--I was upset when you were angry at me at first. But I should have understood how you were feeling. I made you all miserable. I feel like I might understand everyone who ever had to deal with me even  _ more _ when I’m with Azula.”

He paused, caught by surprise by his own words. The words had spilled from his mouth before he had time to consider them, but that did not make them any less true. He tugged at his tumultuous thoughts, laying them carefully piece by piece until he could step back and see where they all intertwined, where they all came from and the greater picture that they created.

“In fact,” Zuko said softly. “The way I can even get myself to go back to Azula and try to help her is  _ because _ of all of you guys. And because of my uncle. I’m sure that my uncle had plenty of times he was frustrated with how I was acting. And maybe he wished he never came along with me to capture the Avatar. I was a mess. He must have wanted to give up on me at times, and yet he never left me. And you guys--even after I attacked you guys time after time, even after I betrayed your trust, when I came to you asking to join you, you...you took me in. Begrudgingly, maybe, but you did. That was probably so stupid of you! But it also saved me.”

He looked down at his hands. A warm rush that had nothing to do with his fire overwhelmed him when he finally connected the pieces and could think to himself, so that was why. Where would he be now without any of the mercy that he did not deserve?

“I wouldn’t have given Azula a second thought if it weren’t for you all,” he said. “If you hadn’t shown me that it was possible. Or even gave me something to hope in, that whether it goes well or goes badly you all are there for me. You think you might be terrible because you feel like you must be, or you feel too tired or hurt. But Katara, I can try to do good for Azula because you all have been good to me first.”

Katara let out a choked sound. She buried her face in her hands, her thick hair shielding her from Zuko’s view. Zuko let out a deep breath, feeling almost feverish from all this expression. She clumsily wiped her cheeks, sniffing heartily and staring up at Zuko.

“And here I thought,” she said. “Sokka told me you were terrible at pep talks.”

Zuko turned sharply to Katara. He took one look at her before they both suddenly burst out laughing, half mortified and half relieved that neither of them expected her to say that. 

“I am,” he said, breathless. “When I’m trying to be peppy.”

“You?” said Katara. “ _ Peppy _ ?” 

“It’s not like I’m trying to be Ty Lee, but you know-- _ motivating _ . Inspiring. Decently productive.” 

“Isn’t that an important part about being a nation’s leader?” 

“That’s the problem.” 

Katara laughed again, pushing her hair out of her eyes. Then, she leaned forward and hugged Zuko tightly. Zuko embraced her easily.

“Who could have imagined,” she said, “that you and I would ever see each other this way?”

He squeezed his eyes shut and wished he did not have to ever think about anything else. 

 

-

 

That night was cut short. The spirits sought to put Zuko to the test. 

He and Katara stood up from the side of the pond and walked back to the veranda, as it was getting late and both of them were exhausted from breaking open their own hearts and praying to be accepted. When they were about to part ways--him to his quarters and her to the guest quarters--the hall that connected them seemed to gradually grow alight, until Zuko saw that it was in fact a procession of people running forward, a river of lamps and torches coursing towards them. 

The warden of the mental facility ran at the helm. 

Zuko stepped forward, a cautious hand held out to keep Katara behind him. The warden ran forward to Zuko, sweat drenching his face. The closer he got, Zuko realized that the warden’s clothes and hair were singed, and he wasn’t running--the guards that chaperoned him were practically holding him up by the forearms as he limped towards his Fire Lord. He collapsed at Zuko’s feet, gasping for air. 

“What’s going on?” Zuko said. 

“My Lord--” The warden choked out. His voice was wracked with smoke. “My Lord, forgive me--Forgive me, I did not know who else to turn to--” 

Zuko’s mind immediately went to Azula, and his chest constricted. 

“Tell me what’s wrong,” said Zuko. “ _ Now _ .”

“Princess Azula,” said the warden. He prostrated himself before Zuko, and Zuko could see the oozing burns on the man’s hands. “Our nurse had come to help prepare her for sleep--and she killed her.” 

Zuko felt the blood drain from his face. Katara’s hands flew to her mouth. The warden began to sob.

“Another nurse came to see what was wrong when no one returned and Princess Azula--she attacked her as well. Everyone who tries to come inside she attacks. She’s already killed two of my nurses, I cannot dare to send more--”

“How did this happen?” Zuko whispered. “How did you let this happen?”

“I do not know!” the warden cried. “Perhaps--the young nurse who went to prepare Princess Azula for the night, she must have tried to change the bandages that covered the needles blocking Princess Azula’s chi by herself--”

“Why would she do such a stupid thing?” said Zuko. “How could she not realize--?” 

But the young nurse was dead now, and he could not scold her any more than he could have run over to protect her, any more than he could scream at his father for tearing their family apart. His sister was a killer. He should have not been surprised, but the declaration was so numbing that he almost wanted to burn himself to assure himself that it was a dream. 

The warden stammered so badly that it sounded like his teeth were falling from his gums. Zuko bent down and grabbed the man by the shoulder, dragging him up onto his feet. 

“You were supposed to make her better!” Zuko said. 

“Zuko--” Katara started.

“How did this happen?” said Zuko. “You told me that she was calming down, how could this happen?” 

“My lord, my lord,” the warden pleaded. “I would do everything I can for the princess. I try everything that I could. But I cannot control her grief.” 

The words struck Zuko across the face. He let go of the warden, who stumbled back shaking. Zuko turned away, towards Katara, his thoughts slowly becoming sand that sifted into his limbs and dragged him down. Katara’s eyes met him, and reflected the horror he felt.

Of course. Of course. Of course. 

“Now the princess swears that she will kill anyone else who comes in,” the warden said. “And she demands--”

He gasped for breath, the searing sting of his wounds and the smoke in his lungs and the horror in his mind’s eyes piling onto him like a flash flood. Zuko felt a stab of regret for his harshness. 

“You,” the warden said. “She demands that you come to her, or she will burn the island to ash.”

Zuko held his breath. Of course, his mind whispered. Of course. 

“Does she mean to kill me too?” Zuko said.

“Forgive me, my lord,” the warden wept. “I have failed you. I have failed--” 

“Someone take this man to the healers,” said Zuko. 

He turned towards the warden again, to the guards who watched and the servants who shook in anticipation.

“Evacuate the hospital immediately,” Zuko said. “And bring the wounded back here. If she plans to burn down the island, let her bring down as few people with her as possible. Send out all the ferries and whatever boats available to bring the people out of harm’s way.” 

“What of the princess?” a guard said. 

Zuko took in a breath. He bunched his hair into a ceremonial top knot, fitting of a king. 

“Prepare a boat for me,” said Zuko. “I will go to her.”

“No!” Katara said. 

She took him forcefully by the forearm. Zuko turned to her; she sucked in a sharp breath, as if she had suddenly noticed something on his face that she had never seen before. 

“Let me come with you,” said Katara. 

“I’m not going to fight her,” said Zuko.

“I know,” Katara said, and her voice caught a little. “I know that already.” 

Zuko hesitated before he finally gave a short nod. Katara straightened, her fists tightening as she drew in her strength for the harrowing hour ahead. Zuko met her gaze, and gave thanks that he could trust her. 

He returned to his quarters to put on his proper attire again. The armor, the crown, the steady breaths that adorned him with calm even though he felt everything but. He could hear the rushing of his pulse in his ears, and he knew that he could very much walk into another Agni Kai. He looked to the broadswords that he kept by his wall, caught his scarred reflection along the blade, and turned away. He would not fight his sister. 

From the dock, he could see the ferries crossing the bay towards the capital island. From here, Zuko could only see the pinprick of lanterns that usually lit the dock of the other island, no bigger than the closest star in the sky. It could almost pass as another night, if he could only breathe. 

“My lord,” said the captain of the dock said, bowing deeply when Zuko and Katara approached. “I’ve prepared a ship for you.”

“I can get you there three times as fast,” Katara said to Zuko.

Zuko bowed to his captain, and then took Katara’s side. She wrapped her arm around Zuko’s waist; with her other hand she called the currents. On the count of three, the two leapt off the dock. Katara held tight onto Zuko as she sprinted across the water, each stroke of her hand cutting them across the bay, their faces salty with ocean spray and cold sweat. 


	5. Chapter 5

The island was empty when Zuko and Katara set foot on its dock. Empty save one. 

The ferries that they had raced past had been crowded with patients and doctors huddled on the deck and watching with bated breath as their Fire Lord went to confront the princess. Zuko’s heart did not slow down even though his feet found ground again, and now he could no longer pin the blame on Katara mastering the ocean for him.

“Zuko,” Katara said. 

Zuko turned to her, ready to shake his head no, she cannot come, he needed to face Azula alone. He knew that she could protect him if he needed it, that she was far stronger than anyone could ever imagine. But Katara did not ask that of him. Instead, she gripped his wrist tightly, until she could feel his frightened pulse. Then, she let go, and he bowed his head, before he walked alone into the hospital. 

His steps echoed through the abandoned hallway, where wheelchairs were left empty and trays of food discarded where the nurses were told to stop what they were doing and to run. But the closer he came to Azula’s room, up the stairs and down the winding hall, the more he could smell the thick smoke, and something that was so putrid it was almost sweet. He recognized this smell; he took a moment to collect himself, sweat along his hairline even though he was not yet to the fire, before he continued. 

My sister, he thought to himself. He pressed his hand against the door that separated him from her room, and felt the heat and char underneath. My sister. 

He slid the door open, stepped inside, slid the door closed beneath him, and knelt down on the ground.

The smell of burnt flesh made him age back three years. Two bodies lay in the middle of the room, their faces and chests left unrecognizable. Ice blue fire ate at the paints on the wall, the untouched book case and the vanity with the cracked glass. And in the midst of it all, illuminated by her own killing machine, Azula stood. 

No one spoke. Zuko stayed still, his hands on his knees and his feet folded properly underneath him as he looked to her, looking anywhere but the nurses she had killed, or the fire that surrounded the both of them. And Azula stayed silent as well. Each breath made her chest heave, and the look in her eyes promised that this would be the last thing Zuko would ever see. 

The heat was becoming unbearable. 

“You killed him,” Azula said.

Zuko could barely hear her over the flaring fire. He could only read her lips, which she had chewed to the point of bleeding. The blood shone blue in the light of her flames. It made her look unhuman. 

“You,” Azula said. “It was you. You did this. You killed him.” 

Zuko took in a breath. Even though it constricted his lungs, he did not cry out. 

Suddenly, Azula hurled fire towards him. He lifted his hand just in time to dissipate it before it could pierce his chest. 

“Dad is dead  _ because of you _ ,” Azula said. 

She bared her teeth and with a great yell she sent fire soaring towards him. He blocked it again, with shaking and sweating hands, but he kept his place on his knees, on the ground, as if he was about to take tea at the low table which now lay in cinders between them. 

My sister, Zuko cried out in his mind. 

“It’s your fault!” Azula screamed. 

This time she missed. It struck the door behind him, eating away at the layers of walls it broke through. Zuko’s heart hurt from how much it raced, howling at him to get onto his feet and fight back. Not again, it demanded. Not again, not again,  _ don’t let it happen again. _

“Fight back!” Azula said. “Fight back, you coward!” 

Zuko kept his chin level. Azula looked like their mother, but oh, how she reminded him so much of their father in this moment. 

“He was going to come for me!” Azula cried out. “He was going to save me, he was going to--it’s your fault he’s dead. My father! You locked him up and it killed him and you took him away from me! You always take everyone away from me!” 

Azula, Zuko thought to himself. Father was never going to come for you.

She hurled fire after fire, not even bothering anymore to aim at Zuko. She would have destroyed the entire building if the flames did not dissipate when they fell too far from her. Zuko knew this--that was what the dragons had told him, on that mountain what felt like centuries ago. There was no life or truth in her fire. Even if it burned like the sun, it would never last. 

Azula stumbled over the blackened arm of one of the nurses that she had killed, falling onto all fours. She gasped for breath, her digging her bleeding fingernails into the wooden panels.

“Mother left for you,” Azula choked out. “But she wouldn’t stay for me. Dad was  _ mine _ , and you  _ killed  _ him, you took him, you drove him to die, you--” 

Azula, Zuko thought to himself. Father was never going to save you.

And look, he thought to himself, his throat swelling. Look how much you would have saved him.

When Azula gathered herself back onto her feet, Zuko pressed his hands against the peeling wood floor before him, and bowed his head to the ground. 

He could taste the ash, this close to the floor. Feel his muscles ache because his heart still fought under the assumption that he would stand up and fight Azula. But he kept his forehead to the ground. Held his breath. Waited for the fire to fall on him. 

Ozai would never understand how much he had broken his family apart. He did not see the way he made his daughter’s heart shatter like punctured glass and not see his son fall down on his knees for the sorrow of their home, the both of them grieving what neither of them ever had because his life was far crueler than his death. Father, Zuko thought to himself, closing his eyes, waiting. Father, if you saw her now, would it matter to you at all? 

There was a thud before him. Zuko paused, before he lifted his head. Azula had crumpled to the ground before him, cradling her head like a child as she shook as if she could not feel her own fire. 

Zuko was too frozen to move. He waited for her to let out a blood-curdling scream, to laugh maniacally, to rip a hole through the floorboards and disappear into the night. He waited for the terror that everyone had expected for him.

Instead, she reached a pale and shaking hand towards him, and wrapped her fingers around the hem of his sleeve. 

Azula always lies, was the mantra that Zuko clung to when she used to pierce him with words he was too scared of being true. But Azula also was always lied to, because only now did she confront with hollowing grief that Ozai never gave a damn about her, and therefore no one did. 

Zuko’s nose stung. He slowly straightened, letting his hand stay near her so that she would not lose grip of him. With a soft sigh, he bent the flames around them until they smothered and became nothing but fragile embers. Azula’s shoulders shook, her face hidden from him, but she did not make a sound, and if it were not for when Zuko had sat up and Azula’s grip tightened around his sleeve Zuko would have thought that Azula forgot he was even on the island. 

Azula used to taunt Zuko about how willing Ozai would have been to kill him. She smirked when Ozai told Zuko that he was lucky to have been born. She delighted in the fact that Zuko was least loved. And Zuko was no monk; he fumed at Azula for it, would carry no qualm sinking his burning fist into her stomach if it would shut her up. But now he realized he would not wish the hatred of a parent on his worst enemy. Even though the feeling was not mutual, and even though it made no difference. 

The chill of the night was trickling in from the broken walls, and Zuko felt too numb and shocked to smell the burnt flesh. His eyes watered, and he blamed the vanishing smoke. 

He reached out and gently touched Azula’s hair. Her shoulders hunched even more tightly, but she did not move away from his hand. He stroked her hair with the tips of his fingers, barely touching her head. Zuko did not realize that he was crying until he felt the thin line down his cheek go cold. Even so, he stayed there, well into the night.

 


	6. Chapter 6

Azula’s unwell, Zuko said.

She commited a crime, he countered to himself.

She’s grieving, he reasoned.

She killed two people who were trying to help her, he argued.

She’s a princess, he attempted.

She’s not above the law, he pointed out.

She’s my sister, he pleaded.

She’s my sister, he resigned. 

When he went to the homes of the nurses’ families, though, the decision was painfully cemented into his chest. Azula must be put on trial. 

Forty soldiers arrived at the island to remove Azula from the facility to the prison, but there was no need for that. She did not ask where they were taking her, when they pulled her onto her feet. She did not protest when they bound her hands, and when they slammed the cell door behind her she lay on the ground and squeezed her eyes shut. It was when they pulled Zuko away from her that she did anything at all.

“Don’t go,” she croaked. The soldiers pulled her hand away from Zuko to bound them behind her back. She only had eyes for Zuko. “Don’t.”

Before Zuko could reply, if he could think of anything at all to say, she was already dragged away from him. 

Zuko couldn’t sleep for the days of Azula’s trial. He replayed the magistrate’s investigation of the crime over and over again until he both sentenced and pardoned her at least ten times in his mind. She could be insane. She attacked them out of rage but not out of intent. She did not resist arrest. But those nurses were not the ones who told her of Ozai or ever hurt her, so there was no reason to attack them. But she had waited until a young nurse was changing her needles to attack. But she knew she was in no danger. But murder was murder, no matter how heartbroken the one who committed it. 

“Therefore,” the royal magistrate declared to Azula, to Zuko, to all the spectators and to the nation. “I declare Azula guilty, and subject to a sentence that befits her crime.”

Azula said nothing, as she did for the entire trial. She only stood in the middle of the court, her prisoner’s garb hanging loosely on her wasting frame.

Say something, Zuko thought to himself. 

But perhaps he should be the one to say something--he was Fire Lord, and for the first time in their history he had more power than she did. And perhaps there was nothing to be said, because if he pardoned his sister then justice was forfeit, and the nurses who had dedicated their work to take care of Azula only to be killed by her would be disgraced to be forgotten by their Fire Lord. 

Say something, Zuko pleaded. Azula never gave up without a fight. That was how it always was. She and Zuko were far too stubborn to die.  _ Do _ something, Azula. Anything.

But Azula only stared blankly ahead, until the soldiers took her off of the stand and dragged her out of the court. Zuko knew with a sick pit in his stomach that whatever would be decided for her, what acts of justice, she would not survive it. 

How could she when the world she created on the foundation of their father had decayed? 

Before the magistrates could finish deliberating on Azula’s sentence, Zuko retreated from the court. He put away his armor, his regalia, his crown, until he was left only with a humble appearance, more like the runaway he had been only months ago than the Fire Lord he had risen to become. None of this was a simple decision to Zuko, because he knew that Azula deserved what would come ahead. He would be lying if he said that came to this choice easily. But whatever the magistrates would decide on, Azula would not survive it. 

Before anyone could catch him, he slipped into the prison. There was no need to bully the guards to keep their silence anymore. He was afraid of one person in his life, and that person was dead. 

Azula was being held in the same cell that Iroh had occupied. He wondered if she even knew that. He doubted she held any affection for Iroh to ever visit him.

When the cell door creaked open as a guard let Zuko inside, Azula did not stir from her place on the floor. He motioned for the guard to leave them. He stood before the bars, on the same side of them as he always had and yet on the other side of the table. He didn’t know if this would be the last conversation he would have with his sister, or if it would be the next of many, only that whatever came forth would mean nothing would be the same. He was more scared than angry. 

He put a hand on the bars. Cold radiated from the stone walls. She was shivering in her thin garments. He did not ask the guard to give her a blanket. It would not be necessary.

“Hey,” he said.

Azula groaned inwardly. Her back faced him, and he could not tell if she was awake in the first place. He sat cross-legged before the bars, so that he could be a little more level with her.

“The magistrates are deciding on your sentence now,” said Zuko. “It’ll only be another hour or so.” 

Silence. Zuko rested his forehead against the bars. His nerves were so anxious that it was beginning to wear him down. He wished he could lie down as well, and wait for the weeks to pass. 

“If you said at court that you were remorseful, they’d give you a lighter sentence,” he said. “Why didn’t you?”

Azula shifted. On further inspection, it could have passed as a shrug. Or maybe she was simply asleep.

“Maybe even if you said that you were sorry,” said Zuko. “You’d still have to be sentenced, but it’d be something. Wouldn’t it?”

Zuko felt his mouth go dry. He felt as if he was constantly falling, his stomach tangling with his heart in the wrong place. Would it change anything if she had answered? Did it change anything when she did not? 

“Do you really hate me, Azula?” Zuko said. 

That sentence already made his stomach turn, and he could feel a lump form in his throat that threatened to choke him if he did not scream it out. He had to gather himself first before he could continue, although his breath still shook.

“For almost our entire lives,” said Zuko. “Even if you were just following Father’s example. Why did you still hurt me when he wasn’t watching?” 

He clenched his teeth, because he was beginning to raise his voice already. Just remembering it and saying all of this out loud was like stabbing himself repeatedly in the gut. Azula did not react to any of it. And it was painful for Zuko to admit it to himself. He had thought maybe one day, they would talk about their past and their present. And for the first time he would finally tell her how unsafe he felt around her. And when he finally told the truth, that she would care. Maybe she would feel sad, or guilty, or even apologize to him, and then he could look at her without immediately getting upset for the first time. 

But this was not what he came here for.

Zuko approached the bars and reached a hand through them. The bars caught him at his elbow, and his fingertips could only skim the ends of Azula’s hair strewn over the stone. He did not want to ask all of this from Azula anymore; whatever groveling, repentance, devastation and shame that he may have fantasized before. He did not want to wait for any of these, nor let it stop him from what shall come next. 

“I love you, Azula,” Zuko said. “If I go, would you believe me?” 

She did not protest. So neither did Zuko. He pulled away from her, gave her one last look over his shoulder, and left the cell.

The walk back to the palace court felt like a hundred miles. He did not begrudge himself for the way his heart raced and for the sweat that collected at his brow. He had not done anything like this before. Zuko always braced himself for a fight, whether it was for his honor or for his life or for others. This cold walk to what could be a terrifying end required a new kind of bravery. 

Azula would never do this for him, Zuko knew. She would never see the worth in such a thing, or him.

Don’t you still love her anyway? 

He pushed open the doors to the court. The crowd had long been shown out, and the magistrates were huddled together to decide on Azula’s fate. When they saw Zuko come inside, the head magistrate stepped forward, holding out a long scroll heavy with fresh ink.

“Fire Lord Zuko,” said the head magistrate. “We need your seal of approval for the criminal’s sentence.” His brow furrowed at Zuko’s humbled attire. “What is this? Had you gone training?”

Zuko pulled out his stone seal from his pocket. It was a smooth, cold jade whose smooth piece curled into the body of a dragon at the top. 

“Let me see,” he said.

The head magistrate handed him the scroll, detailing Azula’s sentence. Zuko knew that if he read it, he would be tempted to base his decision on this and this alone. But he needed to be firm; whatever they decided on, Zuko could see too well that Azula would not survive it. 

“What she had done is punishable by death,” said the head magistrate. “A life for a life. And with her title as princess now disgraced--”

“Even as a princess, she should face the full consequence,” Zuko said as he read carefully. His chest tightened. 

“The spirits,” said the head magistrate, “shall decide for themselves, if she should live or die for her crime.”

Zuko nodded. He set the scroll onto the table and motioned for ink. As he pressed his seal down on the red ink, he could see how his fingers shook. He knew how painful such a sentence could be--and how deadly. But he did not need the spirits to tell him what his own eyes saw--Azula would let herself die. 

He pressed his seal on the corner of the parchment until the yellow paper bled. He set the seal aside and pushed the scroll to the head magistrate. 

“Now that you have decided on her sentence,” said Zuko, “I bring both my appeal and the Fire Lord’s permission.”

He held out his hands, palms up and his wrists pressed together. The magistrates gasped at the surrendering motion, and the head magistrate--who knew immediately what Zuko implied--dropped the scroll in shock.

“My Lord--” he said.

“I invoke Ai Xinku,” Zuko said. “Let me take my sister’s sentence.”


	7. Chapter 7

Zuko was weak. This Azula always knew.

But perhaps that wasn’t his fault. Azula would have always been stronger, no matter what sort of person Zuko would be. Azula never needed Zuko to protect her. No one dared make an enemy out of her, even as a child. And if she had a nightmare, it was only a sign that nothing but her own mind could defeat her, and for most of her life she took comfort in that until now. 

Zuko, on the other hand, let everything hurt him. He let Ursa’s disappearance hurt him, he let Ozai hurt him, he let his own stupidity hurt him. He let Azula hurt him. Even if he would fight back and cover his ears and scream at her, he let her get into his heart and eat through it like a worm. It was his own fault, if he did not have the fortitude to ignore her, or see her as unimportant, if her words and attacks hurt his  _ feelings _ so badly. 

But he was the one with the crown, on the other side of the bars, head held high and untethered. For all of their lives Zuko was weak, foolish, less worthy, less valuable, less important. And yet he was the Fire Lord. And yet he was adored in so many ways that Azula never was. 

So when Zuko came to her in prison, and she feigned sleep (or perhaps she was too tired to move, let alone speak), she wanted to reach through the bars and throttle him. She did not know why. He asked childishly simple questions. Maybe it was because he said the word ‘Father,’ and it brought upon her fresh grief and betrayal. Or that he dared to declare how  _ sad _ he had been when he had everything. Even when they were little, and Ozai said over dinner how Zuko would have been better off dead, Zuko had everything. He had their mother’s love. No matter how stupid and useless Zuko was, he always had Ursa’s love. And Azula had none of it. Perhaps she never had Ozai’s either. 

She wanted to strangle Zuko because he told her that he loved her, and she hated how much she doubted it. Because sooner or later he would betray her, or be disgusted by her, or declare that she was no longer useful and leave her behind. And hated even more that by doubting it it meant she desperately wanted it. 

Azula curled into a tighter ball, her stomach turning from the smell of damp stone and her own sweat. Sooner or later, her sentence would come. She could imagine Zuko approving the worst sentence for her--hard labor in the coal mines was possible. Public flogging, perhaps. Or more possibly, execution. She was a threat to his reign, however much he protested that. It would be what she would do if their roles were reversed. 

Wouldn’t it be? 

She thought of Zuko, who snivelled behind Ursa and whose filthy waterbender saved his life for no reason other than that she cared for him. Under all the anger and worthlessness that she had wrapped him in, she knew that he had done nothing wrong other than be loved, and that was enough for Azula to hate him. 

_ I love you, Azula _ .

She took those four words in his voice and tried to rip it into shreds, stamp her heel onto it, spit it out and set it on fire. But when it would not stop echoing in her head, softening with each turn, she clutched it against her pounding chest, terrified of letting it go.

Funny, she thought to herself. The guards should have taken her to her sentencing ages ago. 

-

The Fire Nation was a long ways away from the South Pole. They journey would take weeks, and Katara had not seen home or Gran-Gran in such a long time. 

“We can’t stay here forever,” Hakoda had said when he prepared their ship to leave. “We’ve finished our initial negotiations and plans for post-war rebuilding. Now it’s time to enact it.”

“I hate being the first to leave,” Katara said. Aang was going to stay in the Fire Nation indefinitely, and then he would help bring Toph and Iroh to the Earth Kingdom via Appa. Maybe it was shallow of Katara, but she was crestfallen of not being with the group.

Katara did not know what made her hesitate. She fiercely missed home, the snow and the gentle numbing of the chill. She even missed sea prunes. But to come home without a war also meant coming home with an entirely new world, and as new and hopeful as it was it would never be a clean slate. Perhaps that was what she feared--going home, having that familiar dome of an igloo over her head, and not knowing how to move forward.

“That’s what you’re worried about?” Sokka said when Katara confided in him. “We have an entire city to put back together. And you’re the only waterbender. You’re not going to be without something to do for another  _ year _ .” 

“That’s the thing,” Katara said. “We’ve lived all this time with a war. No one knows how to live without one. What are we going to do, now that we’re navigating something that hasn’t happened in one hundred years?” 

Sokka laughed easily. Katara knew that he was just as confused as she was. It was just that Hakoda was watching.

But as they were about to make their way down the caldera towards the main docks of the capital, Appa roared overhead. Katara looked up and quickly backed out of the way when Appa made his landing on the mountainside, digging his feet into the overgrown volcanic soil. Aang slid off of Appa’s head, his face panic-stricken.

“I’m really sorry,” Aang said. “But you’ve got to hold on.” 

“Aang, what’s wrong?” said Katara. 

“It’s Zuko,” said Aang. “He invoked Ai Xinku to take Azula’s punishment.”

Katara felt her heart stop. She dropped her pack, a mess of terror and anger boiling in her chest.

“He did  _ what _ ?” Sokka said. 

“He took Azula’s place,” Aang said. “And he’s about to go under the spirits’ mercy. No one can talk him out of it.”

“Then I’ll knock some sense into that  _ idiot _ ,” Katara said. 

“No,” said Aang. “He won’t change his mind. Katara, he’s going to get shot.”

Katara couldn’t breathe. Before she could stop herself, she grabbed Aang roughly by the shoulders.

“He’s not,” she said. “No, he wouldn’t be so stupid. He wouldn’t be. He’s  _ Fire Lord _ . He barely survived a lightning attack only months ago. Doesn’t he realize how much everyone needs him?”

She turned pleadingly to Hakoda, who held up a hand to stop her.

“Go,” he said. “We will wait for you.”

“No,” Katara said. “Go without me. I’ll--I can’t leave until I know he’s okay.” 

She slung her pack over her shoulder and climbed up Appa’s tail to the saddle. Sokka immediately scrambled up behind her. 

“I’m staying with you,” Sokka said to Katara’s look of shock. “He’s my friend too.” 

Katara grabbed her brother’s hand, gripping it tightly. With a brisk whip of the reins, Aang set Appa soaring, racing the spirits to Zuko. 

-

When Iroh was told of what Zuko had done, he wept. It was almost enough for Zuko to back down. 

“I almost lost you too many times in this war,” Iroh said. He held Zuko’s hand as if he was enough to hold him back from the spirits. “Don’t put yourself in danger now that the war has finally ended. I can’t bear you being taken away from me.”

“I’ve survived a lot,” Zuko said. “I can take this.”

“Or perhaps you cannot,” said Iroh. “You’re gambling, nephew. You could die just as much as you could survive this.” 

“I know,” Zuko said. “But Azula’s so sick, Uncle. She would die.” 

Perhaps Iroh could bear Azula being taken away from him, and perhaps even Zuko could as well. But he would not give the spirits the chance. 

“You’d do the very same for me,” Zuko said. “If it meant I would be free. No--you already did.” He paused before his voice could crack under the nerves. “Don’t watch.” 

“I couldn’t,” said Iroh. “But to leave you to face it alone?” 

“Don’t,” said Zuko. “I need you to make sure they set Azula free. They have to. I’ve taken her place. But people might still hold her guilty. You need to make sure that she’ll be all right.”

Iroh opened his mouth, but then he quieted, and his eyes gleamed with tears. Zuko could hazard a guess as to why--for a moment, even though he had long forgotten his voice, Zuko knew that he almost sounded like Lu Ten. 

Zuko could not look Iroh in the face. He gave Iroh’s hand one squeeze before he pulled away. 

The head magistrate painted a circle of of black ink on Zuko’s clothes, right around his heart. The man shook head to toe as he did, and when he stepped back and bowed, his teeth chattered. Zuko bowed as well. He was just as afraid. But he could not let Azula die--not when she had not yet been loved. 

They fastened a sack over Zuko’s head, so that the archer assigned to the sentence would not know his identity. His hands were bound and he was fastened to a place in the court. The sounds of the magistrate and Fire Sage spectators were muffled by the burlap around Zuko’s ears, so that only his shallow breathing echoed. Even if he could neither see nor hear him, he knew that Iroh did not leave like Zuko begged him to. 

What am I  _ doing _ , Zuko thought.

He thought of Azula, and the overwhelming sorrow that came with her. If he would go, would she believe that he loved him? 

Would  _ he _ ?

Fire Sage Shyu presided the sentence, reciting the pleas to the spirits for their intervention and judgment. Desperation bled from his mantras. Zuko tried to steady his breathing, so that he could not hear the sound of his own dread. His heart beat against the black ink circle on his chest, marked out for the archer to see and direct his arrows anywhere but. Two arrows--through the stomach, or the lungs, or the side, anywhere but the heart to avoid a sudden death. If it would be the spirits’ will, they would not be fatal. Zuko already knew that he could not count on the spirits favoring him. 

He took in a deep breath, felt his lungs outstretch. At the same time, he heard the Yu Yan archer’s bow stretch, thirty meters before him. Although Zuko could see nothing but the pinpricks of light through the cloth, he closed his eyes. He replayed the memory of him quietly stroking Azula’s hair, just as he could hear the twang of the arrow’s release. 


	8. Chapter 8

The moment that Appa touched solid ground, Katara leapt off of him and raced to the court. She could tell that they had only just missed it, because the palace was in chaos. 

People were running to and fro, while clumps of servants huddled in dead ends whispering rumors. Fear clung to the walls like the summer sweat, except Katara could not bend it from the walls and use it to drive ice straight into what terrified her.

“Hey! You!” Sokka grabbed one of the servants who was running down the hall, his hands full with rags. “Where’s Zuko? What happened to him?”

“I must go!” the servant cried out. 

He tried to pull away from Sokka, but Sokka grabbed him roughly by the arms. 

“My sister’s a master waterbender,” Sokka said. “If Zuko’s hurt, she can heal him. But you need to tell us where he is!” 

The servant stuttered badly, drawing the bundle of rags closer to his chest.

“The chambers in the west hall,” he said. “He was hit in the chest and the stomach.”

“Now that wasn’t so hard, was it!” Sokka said. 

His gaze flickered down to the rags in the servant’s hands before he jumped backwards, crying out. The servant bowed hastily before sprinting away.

“That was blood,” Sokka said, his voice strained. He began to run, taking Katara’s hand. “That was all blood.” 

Katara tightened her grip on the skin of water at her hip--a ragged, matted thing that the Fire Lord’s life could very well depend on. 

They shoved their way to the west hall; the closer they came to the chamber, the stronger the scent of blood and incense. By the time they burst through the private doors, Katara could scream from the sheer tension that mounted in her chest. 

“Master Katara!” 

Iroh staggered onto his feet; his face shone with sweat and tears. One hand held tightly onto Zuko’s, who did not return the grip. 

Katara rushed to the bedside. Zuko’s face was frighteningly pale; they had removed the arrows but left his torso unbandaged, covering the wounds only with medicinal powder and nothing more. She put a hand on his forehead, but he did not know that she was there. 

“I need some light,” said Katara. “Why haven’t you cleaned his wound?”

“It is the ritual of calling on the spirits’ will,” said a Fire Sage. He lit thin sticks of incense and set it on brass holders, the aromatic smoke trickling to the ceiling. “We cannot interfere with their justice.”

Katara drew in a deep breath before popping off the cap from her waterskin. When she drew the water from the pouch, the Fire Sage cried out. 

“You mustn’t!” he said. “It is the spirits’ decision if he should--”

“It was the spirits who gave me the ability to waterbend,” Katara shot back. “So by La, I will heal him!” 

She wrapped the water around her hands and pressed them against Zuko’s wounds. A cold glow emanated from her hands, but she could feel how deep the wound went, and how much blood he had already lost before she had come. Blood was pooling into the cavities where they should not be, and every time her waterbending tried to collect it and move his punctured veins and muscles back into place, something would always slip from her grip, and his heartbeat would slow. 

“He’s bleeding really badly,” Katara said. She could already feel sweat bud from her forehead. “It’s going everywhere. I can’t--it’s even going into the water.” 

She lifted some of the water from her healing pool, where droplets of blood swam through it. She begged Sokka to get her more water, to which he ran out immediately on the call. 

“Do you think he will die?” Iroh said. 

Katara squeezed her eyes shut. She poured her chi out to Zuko, but where she could connect tissue back together, she could not replenish what was lost. 

“No one’s dying on my watch,” Katara said. Her fingers shook until they hurt. “Not again.” 

She bent more blood from her water, letting the droplets dyed red float over her head before she could think of how to dispose of them. She suddenly froze, before looking up sharply to Iroh. 

“How much longer until nightfall?” she said. 

“It’ll be another hour until sundown,” said Iroh. 

Katara nodded. Another hour--and then perhaps longer before it gets completely dark. She turned back to Zuko, whose battered chest barely rose with each breath, but rose nonetheless. 

“You’ve got an hour, Zuko,” Katara said. “So hold on.” 

She tightened her grip on him, hands shaking as she waited for the full moon to pour its power into her.

-

When the guards finally came for Azula, she giggled mirthlessly at them.

“Had you forgotten about me?” she said. 

They said nothing. Instead, they handed Azula clean clothes and left. 

Azula frowned when she saw them. They were her old clothes, a wine red robe from the palace. Was Zuko insisting on a royal execution? She left them to the side.

When the guard returned, he looked at the untouched clothes to Azula. Instead of forcing them onto her like she expected, he picked up the clothes and left.

This made Azula sit up. When the guard returned, he unlocked the door. One guard stood at the door while the other came into her cell. Azula stood up immediately, but the guard shook his head and dragged a stool over into the middle of the cell.

“We’re removing your chi blockers,” he said. 

Azula narrowed her eyes. There were only two of the guards, and no chains in sight. Was he undercover, a loyalist to the old regime set to break her out and overthrow Zuko? She had no reason to trust them, and they had even less reason to trust her. 

She sat on the stool anyway. Perhaps she should fear for her life; Zuko may preach all he wanted about loving her, but that did not mean that his people did. Zuko’s love would not matter after a quiet assassination. But the guard was true to his word; he removed the bandages and the hair-thin needles that put a stopper to her bending. A rush of warmth flooded her limbs, as if they had been asleep and she was just now letting the blood flow. 

Before she could think about attacking them and making a run for it, the guard stepped back and gestured her to follow him. They said not a word, and did not look over their shoulder when they left the cell to see if she would come.

Perhaps, Azula thought, Zuko had hired idiots. 

Still, she might as well see how far this charade would go, otherwise she would have only this dinghy cell. Whether it was a breakout or an assassination, it would change nothing for her. 

But when the guard led her down the hall, they passed other guards and prisoners without a breath of complaint. No one looked her in the eye, but no one sounded the alarm either. Were all of them secretly working for her, and she never knew it? The thought would have tickled her, if she cared at all about their opinion.

It then struck Azula that they indeed were leading her out of the prison, but not in a secret back door or tunnel to a hiding place, but through the main entrance. When the guard pushed the door open and beckoned Azula to step through, they did not follow her out. She was immediately welcomed outside by the humming of cicadas and the cold, unoppressive light of the full moon. 

“What is this?” she finally spoke up. “Did no one have the guts to banish me to my face?” 

“You are not banished,” said the guard. “You have no sentence.”

Azula spun around to the guard. She laughed out loud.

“Do I look like a fool?” she said. “If this is part of a scheme, or you’re just letting me go so that I could be privately assassinated later to assuage Zuzu’s conscience, you can tell him that he should at least have the guts to kill me off himself--” 

“Fire Lord Zuko has taken Ai Xinku in your place,” said the guard. “You are free to live or die however you deem fit.” 

The guard closed the door in Azula’s face, leaving her in the silence of the night.


	9. Chapter 9

Bloodbending was bitter work. The two lone times that Katara had used it, she stayed listlessly awake for nights justifying to herself that she had used it for good before confessing to herself that what she had done was bend people against their will. She had promised herself never to attempt it again, and now it was saving Zuko’s life.

She was drenched in sweat, bending Zuko’s blood back into his veins while hastily closing wounds as quickly as she could. All the while Toph stood by, keeping Katara alert as she announced when Zuko’s heartbeat was slowing, or if it was picking up speed. Toph’s interjections were the only sounds in the room.

Occasionally, Sokka would run to help Katara get water. Iroh would step in and out when officials needed to speak to him, or ask on the Fire Lord’s predicament. But Katara could not tear her attention from Zuko, who had stirred once and then went still again.

Finally, Katara fell back, chest heaving for air as the last of the water was spent. She turned to ask Sokka for more water, but Iroh shook his head, putting a hand on Katara’s shoulder.

“You’re exhausted,” said Iroh. “You have been working for several hours.”

“He’s not better,” said Katara. “I’m not finished. I keep trying to put everything back together, but I can’t. If I go at it a little longer--”

“You’ve done all you could,” said Iroh. “Is his heart still beating?”

“Yes,” said Toph. “It’s weaker, but it’s there.”

“And is he still bleeding out?”

“No,” Katara said. “I closed them as best I could, but--”

“Then his body will take care of itself,” said Iroh. “Please, Katara. If you keep trying to heal him when you have no strength, you will only hurt yourself.”

Katara pursed her lips, but she nodded. He unraveled a roll of bandages and gestured for Katara to help him. He lifted Zuko by the shoulders, supporting his head while Katara wrapped the bandages around Zuko’s torso. The scar where Azula’s lightning burned him was still ugly against his chest, and a fresh wave of indignation overtook her.

“You did a good job, Katara,” said Aang. “Zuko’s going to be okay.”

“Can you go into the spirit world and make sure of that?” Katara said.

Iroh lay Zuko back down, pulling the sheets up to his shoulders. Katara bundled her hair behind her head; it was heavy with sweat, and Katara half considered bending it off of her scalp to use for healing.

“Zuko was probably right,” Aang said. “Azula wouldn’t have survived it. Even if you did heal her.”

The unacknowledged question hung heavily in Katara’s mind, and before she could answer it for herself, Sokka spoke up.

“What’s going to happen to her now, then?” said Sokka. “If she’s free, then is she just going to go back to the hospital? Move in with Zuko after she tried killing him?”

“She was released from prison,” Iroh said. “The warden of the mental facility had come to bring her back for further treatment, but she did not follow him.”

“What?” said Aang. “Where is she, then? Is she here?”

“She has left the island,” Iroh said. “The dockmaster has sent a message that she had taken one of the ships and left.”

Katara stiffened. Iroh pulled himself onto his feet, cracking his back in exhaustion.

“It is late,” he said. “You all should have some sleep. Katara, Sokka, the dockmaster also told me that your father’s ship has dropped anchor. They will stay for as long as you do.”

“Thanks, Iroh,” Sokka said. He turned to Katara. “We should probably let Dad know what’s going on. Just so that he knows what to plan.”

Katara didn’t answer. Iroh brushed the hair from Zuko’s face, caught between pride for his nephew’s heart and pain from the fear that he caused him.

“I will make some tea,” Iroh said. “While I do not mind your company, you should not have to stay up. Take some rest. Zuko will be all right.”

When Iroh left the room, they were caught in a tense silence. Katara’s back was turned to all of them as she stared at Zuko, fixing his bandages even though there was nothing amiss. She put a hand over Zuko’s heart, counting its beats to allow her heart to do the same.

“Katara,” said Toph. “I can feel your heart racing.”

Katara’s hand shot back immediately.

“Did you have to announce it to everyone?” she snapped.

“It isn’t hard to tell,” Aang said.

Katara spun around, gripping her hands into fists.

“Tell what?” she said.

“That you’re angry,” Aang said.

Katara swallowed hard. Even though her limbs were so tired that they ached, she would give anything to spar with someone right now.

“I’m allowed to be angry,” she said.

“Of course you are,” Aang said quickly. “But what _are_ you angry about?”

“Everything! I don’t know,” said Katara. “The whole situation. Dad’s going to be so behind getting back home and we’re holding everything back, and Zuko over here--well, we all know _that_ \--”

“That’s not it,” Toph said.

Katara clenched her teeth.

“Oh?” she said. “Do tell me what I’m angry about then, Toph, since you know everything.”

“Well, now it sounds like you’re mad at _me_ ,” said Toph.

“I’m not mad at you,” Katara said honestly. She stood up from Zuko’s bedside. “I’m going out.”

“Out?” said Sokka. “Where?”

“Just outside,” said Katara. “Aang, can I borrow Appa?”

“Every time you want to borrow Appa, you’re hiding something,” Aang said. “Where are you going?”

“Off of this island,” said Katara.

“Oh, no,” said Aang. “No--you want to find Azula, don’t you?”

Katara’s face burned. When she did not answer immediately, Aang stood up as well, and took Katara’s wrist. Katara moved to pull away, but hesitated at the last second.

“Katara, you can’t go fight Azula,” said Aang. “That’s not what Zuko would want.”

“Let’s ask him, then,” Katara said. “When he wakes up, let’s ask him! Good morning, Zuko, you know how you basically gave your life up for your sister even though she deserved her sentence  and you didn’t? Well, she just ran off without even seeing if you were okay!”

“Katara,” Sokka said.

“Am I wrong?” Katara said. She spun to her brother, her eyes burning with indignation. “Isn’t that how it basically went? She should be the one shot nearly to death, but Zuko took it for her, and she never even said thank you!”

“I know,” Sokka said. “I know, and I don’t--I hate it too. But Zuko did this so that no one would condemn Azula anymore. That’s the legal process of Ai Xinku--”

“I’m condemning her for a completely new crime,” Katara said. “This doesn’t count.”

“Zuko wouldn’t want that, Katara,” Aang said.

 _Don’t do it, Katara_ , Kya said. Except she never truly said that to Katara, because she was dead when Katara heard it.

“But _I_ want to,” Katara said.

She sank to the ground, her fingers digging into her arms as she wrestled with the hurt beast inside of her. Sokka’s face fell, but he sat down next to Katara, holding out his arm.

“C’mere,” he said.

Katara hesitated, before edging closer to Sokka, who wrapped his arm around her shoulders. Her nose stung immediately.

“How could she just not care?” said Katara. “She should know that he could _die_ right now because of her. He took her place. He didn’t have to, but he took her place.”

Sokka held her close, so that her head fell against his. She rubbed her cheeks when the tears threatened to fall.

“Zuko didn’t do it so that Azula would feel indebted to her,” said Aang. “That’s not the kind of person he is.”

“It’s not debt,” said Katara. “It’s just _caring_. Thank goodness that Zuko’s going to be okay, but who could just--not care? I can’t stop thinking about it all the time.”

“All the time?” said Sokka.

Katara’s heart skipped a beat. A lump formed in her throat. It struck her that only Zuko would have known what she had meant, but now she was alone to explain it.

“Mom died because of me, Sokka,” Katara said. “She died because she said she was the last waterbender in the Southern Water Tribe. That’s what the Fire Nation was there for. For me. I know she did it because she loved me but she lied and said--”

Her voice caught, but Sokka already had his arms around her in a fierce hug. He didn’t say anything, only rubbed her back and held her tightly so that she would not doubt him for a moment.

“I can’t imagine not caring,” Katara said. She grabbed fistfuls of Sokka’s shirt as she hugged back. “I can’t imagine not even saying _thank you_ if I could have had the chance.”

They all fell into a deep quiet. When Katara and Sokka finally let go of each other, Sokka’s eyes were red. Katara felt the weight of her bones keenly, and she sagged against Zuko’s bed to stay upright. When Iroh returned, he took one look at all of their faces before promptly setting out five small porcelain cups on the floor before each of them.

“You especially need rest, Katara,” said Iroh.

“I don’t think I can sleep,” Katara said.

“I know,” Iroh said. “Neither can I.”

He poured each of them a splash of jasmine tea. The steam mingled with the incense, and Katara took in a deep breath of each.

“Iroh,” said Katara, picking up the cup. “Do you think Zuko should have done it?”

Iroh sat down between Aang and Toph. There were shadows around his eyes, and a heavy weight on his shoulders.

“I was never close to my niece,” Iroh said. “I was not often in the Fire Nation to watch them grow in the first place. And their father...Ozai had long grown apart from me. Since he died, I cannot help but wonder if he would have ever learned to be proud of Zuko and humble to himself if he had the time. I was older than he was now--then--before I finally turned away from my own arrogance and mistakes.” He paused and looked down at the cup of jasmine. “I do not know if I would have done what Zuko did for Azula. I may not have even thought of it. But Zuko is growing to be a far better man than me, at such a young age. Perhaps, if Zuko thinks he should have done it, that is what matters most.”

Katara ran her finger over the delicate rim of the cup. Then, she held it up, meeting Iroh’s eyes as she did. Iroh blinked, taken by surprise. But he smiled, raised his cup, and they drank together.

-

Azula was not an exile, and yet she lived like one.

She fled from each town that she passed, drawing a hood over her face so that no one would recognize her. She spoke to no one and asked nothing of anyone. At one point, she was about to storm into a shop and demand the shopkeeper give her everything that they possessed when her stomach growled, but she stayed her hand at the last minute. She could have the money and the means, but she would not use them.

Azula knew that she was squandering her resources. She was not banished, not banned from any of the comforts or resources that she wanted. Her face did not grace wanted posters, and if she entered the capital once more, her firebending was still mighty enough to take down anyone who tried to oppose her. And yet, she ran further and further away, stealing rides from fishermen’s boats and counting the archipelago she passed.

Was it possible to be too loved?

On the beach of a weathered island, next to the last of the Fire Nation before they reached the open ocean, Azula buried her face in her hands. She sat alone since the sunset, exhausted and cold and with nowhere next to go. She knew that if she stepped off of Fire Nation territory, none of the other nations would have any qualms attacking her. And even if she could smite them all, for what purpose? There was no one left to chase. No one left to please.

I will do what _I_ please, she had thought to herself, imagining herself retaking Ba Sing Se, sinking Southern Water Tribe ships, collecting crowns. Maybe Ozai would never see her glory--and maybe Ozai never cared to see it. But she would have glory nonetheless.

Except she had had glory. She was Fire Lord for a day, if even, and left alone in a cold palace. She could scope out the nations for the strongest people to serve and accompany her, but then they would simply leave her. She could force the whole world to bow to her. She could never convince them to love her.

Was it possible--?

Zuko was always weak and predictable. Maybe he had grown stronger, but he had not become deadlier. And yet, that simple act of taking her place scared her more than anything else.

Maybe Zuko had loved her beyond her capacity and that was why it felt so frightening. Zuko was predictable, or at least that was what Azula thought, until he had done what no one else would.

Before she could let herself feel anything more, she let out a yell, and released a stream of fire towards the horizon. The waves leapt up to meet it, emitting steam. She shot another, and another, knocking waves of water out of place, and yet the ocean still crept towards the shore. Despite everything she threw at it, she could not chase the tide away.

This was what struck her to the core--Zuko had loved her in a way that her friends, her mother, and her father never did. She wanted more of it until she ached.

And it was possible--maybe, possible--that he would still give it to her.

Azula fell backwards. The sand cushioned her fall. She dug her fingers into the cool sand, and remembered a time when they were little on Ember Island, when Zuko carried her on his back because the sand burned her feet.

She was too tired to hate herself for wanting it.

All she needed to do was find another boat along the dock and demand passage. Maybe even steal it, if she did not feel like the company, which she never did. But out there, towards the horizon, she would chase and chase and never know what she was looking for. Behind her, towards the west, was a brother who loved her.

She sat up, sand pooling from her black hair, and gathered herself onto her feet before she headed towards the dock.

-

“This is _beautiful!”_ Katara said.

She slid off of Appa’s back and ran through the oceans of blooming fire lilies. Aang let out a whoop as he rolled down the side of the hill while Sokka raced him down. Even Toph looked incredibly pleased.

“Finally,” Toph said. “No more _cities_.”

She dug her bare toes into the soil before leaping and falling onto her back in the flowers. reveling in the vibrations of an untouched earth.

“The capital isn’t _that_ bad,” Zuko said. He rested on one of Appa’s legs, too stubborn to back down from his promise of taking them to the crowning glory of the Fire Lily Festival and too sore to partake in it. “Better than Ba Sing Se, anyway.”

“I’ll say,” said Toph. “Now where can I earthbend without killing any of these flowers? I need to exercise.”

“Over here, Toph,” Aang called out near the base of the hill. Toph raced down after him, slipping on the countless lilies on the way.

Katara breathed in deeply, the scent of the fresh fire lilies filling her chest. As Sokka, Toph, and Aang ran down the hill towards the beaches, Katara grazed her fingers across the petals, some lilies nearly reaching her waist.

“I thought Sokka had allergies,” Zuko said.

Katara craned her neck to look towards the foot of the hill, where Sokka was doubled over and sneezing into his sleeve.

“Doesn’t stop him,” she said.

“Typical,” he said. They met eyes, and he waved at her. “Go ahead and join them.”

“I don’t need to,” she said.

“There’s water down there,” he said.

She rolled her eyes before sitting down in the grasses. The wind from the sea rustled the hillside, making the flowers dance and Appa yawn.

“There isn’t nearly as much green in the South Pole as here,” said Katara. “I’ll miss it.”

“There’s seaweed,” said Zuko.

“Seaweed’s in the sea, Zuko. I can’t go frolicking in the cold sea.”

“Frolic?” Zuko said, raising his eyebrow.

“You get my point,” Katara said.

She stretched her arms over her head, as if to hug the warmth of the sun closer to her. Zuko pushed himself off of Appa’s leg, moving gingerly towards her. Katara moved to stand up and help him, but he scowled at her until she acquiesced and let him come to her on his own. He laid himself down on the grass next to her, until the fire lilies towered over him.

“How are you feeling?” said Katara.

“Fine,” Zuko said. “Could be worse. I don’t think I can get back up from here, actually.”

“That’s your fault.”

“Yeah, I know.” He turned his head towards her. “I’m really fine, though. Thank you.”

“That’s like the fifth time you’ve said it.”

“It feels kind of weird not saying it.”

“Well, it’s weird hearing it all the time.”

“You did save my life. Twice.”

Katara snorted. She leaned back, lying down next to him and staring up at the blindingly blue sky.

“You saved my life as well,” said Katara.

“That’s right. Where are all my thank you’s?”

"Well, I saved _your_ life after you saved mine. That counts as a thank you.”

“Okay, fine. We canceled each other out. You still have one over me.”

“Is this our bartering system now? Not paying for each other’s lychee nut juice, but saving each other’s lives?”

“I mean. Yeah.”

Katara laughed. She supposed that this was what would be expected from a friendship forged in the middle of a war.

“Is your dad going to be okay with putting off his return so late?” Zuko said.

“Dad understands,” said Katara. “They sent the first ship back home. So people will be taking care of the South Pole.”

Zuko nodded, looking a little sheepish.

“It’s not your fault,” said Katara.

“It kind of is,” said Zuko.

“Arguably, yes. But you had good intentions, I suppose.”

“Yeah, to stall your leaving.”

“Excuse me?”

Zuko waved a hand quickly.

“I was joking,” he said.

“I know that,” said Katara, the corner of her lips twitching. “Your sense of humor has always been ridiculous.”

“Mine? Ridiculous?”

“Leaf me alone, I’m bushed?”

“That’s _Uncle._ And it would have been funny if I remembered the rest of it.”

“Part of having a good sense of humor is actually knowing what it is.”

Zuko wrinkled his nose. Katara stared out to the sea, while the sounds of Aang and Sokka swimming while Toph practiced her sandbending sang out from below.

“Katara?” said Zuko.

“Yes?” said Katara.

“Do you think I should search for Azula?”

She paused to think.

“Do you think you should?” she said.

A beat.

“No,” said Zuko. “She left for a reason. But I had wished that she stayed.”

“I know,” Katara said quietly. “I do too.”

Zuko hummed in thought. Down below, Toph bent a bridge of sand for herself to follow Aang and Sokka into the water. When Aang splashed water at her, he was sent flying.

“But she knows where to find you,” said Katara. “If she wants.”

Zuko laughed softly.

“That’s true,” he said. “I’m here.”

He closed his eyes, listening to the colorful seabirds that called out to each other over the waves. Katara watched him until his breathing gently evened out. She looked back to the sea, listening to the sounds of their shared family as she watched a single boat on the horizon, slowly crawling to shore.


End file.
